He's My Brother
by Heimchen
Summary: Can an engine be too smart for their own good? That's just one of the concerns the people who handle and care for the locos in Sir Topham Hatt's big new roundhouse in Knapford have about their latest acquisition. An EU drama set in the CGI Thomasverse.
1. An Incidental Lead

This is not a RWS-styled story. It is also not an adaption or expansion of any aired episodes or specials, although it does borrow from many of them, up to and including the events of JOURNEY BEYOND SODOR. What it is, is a fairly serious exploration of the nature of living locomotives via their relationships with the humans who interact with them everyday...something for anyone who's fascinated by the very premise of living machinery in general. To this end, expect lots of chat and angst and original characters, not too much when it comes to actual real railway operations and background. My fondest hope is that even someone who's unfamiliar with any version of the Thomasverse could enjoy this story as a straight-up fantasy. But you, the readers, will have to let me know if I've succeeded at that.

Happy reading!

Disclaimer: The following story is intended for non-profit entertainment purposes only and is not meant to infringe upon the rights of any Thomas The Tank Engine/Thomas And Friends copyright holders.

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter One - An Incidental Lead

It began with one of the French tourists from the cruise ship anchored at Brendam Docks stopping to thank Christophe Pelletier for the day's outing.

"Really splendid trip. Thank you so much!" he enthused. "This has to be about the best excursion I've ever been on."

Christophe, who'd had the day off and volunteered to act as the excursion train's brakeman and quasi-tour guide and conductor, beamed.

"You're very welcome and I'll pass that along," he replied happily. "What part of the trip did you like best? We're always looking to make improvements."

"Oh God, what didn't I like? The museum, I guess. I still can't believe I saw Stephenson's Rocket, and he still runs! The miniature engines were great too. Oh, and this big fellow." The tourist waved at the red and black locomotive with its splashy white trim at the head of the train. "I always wanted to ride behind one of these ten-wheelers. And he's so nice! I talked to him during our stop at Ulfstead and he was very friendly and informative."

"Glad to hear it."

"You know what's weird, though? This isn't the first time I've seen this sort of engine. There's another just like him in a scrapyard only an hour's drive away from my home in France."

Christophe lifted an eyebrow. "That's rather unlikely," he said. "They only built three of this particular class. Are you sure it's not a 52 or a 50? There must be hundreds if not thousands of those still around."

"No. He's got four leading wheels, not two, just like your engine. And his frame sticks out in the front, like yours. A private salvage yard guy has him. Or had him. I last saw him about two months ago."

Christophe reconsidered. The odds that the tourist had actually seen another class 48 locomotive, the second of only three in the entire world, seemed astronomical, yet it was equally improbable that one had found its way to the Island of Sodor in the first place. He dug into his pocket for a piece of paper and a pencil.

"Tell you what," he told the tourist. "If you could, please get me a photo of this engine if he still exists. Just a side shot from the front back to the cab, that's all I'd need. And contact info for the owner. Would any of that be difficult for you?"

"Not really," said the tourist cheerfully. "My sister and her family live in the village where the scrapyard's at. We usually drive down to visit once a month or so. There's even a little railway station there and a bit of a yard. That's where the scrap guy picks up a lot of his stuff."

"Well, I'd appreciate any effort made. Here's my address. I'd love to hear back from you."

"Will do. And thanks again for a great day! I'm going to tell all my railfan buddies to take this tour."

"The North Western Railway thanks you in turn," Christophe said with a laugh. He watched the tourist rush off to board his ship, which had been tooting and threatening to depart for the last five minutes, stuffing the piece of paper with Christophe's address on it into his pocket as he ran. It had been a nice encounter and Christophe was glad that the tourist was happy, but he didn't really hope for much beyond their conversation. A lot of people, even enthusiasts, saw rare locomotives that turned out to be not so rare after all…

A few weeks later, Christophe picked up his mail at the post office and found a letter with a French stamp and return address on it included within the little bundle. He ripped it open on the spot and a photo fell out, onto the floor.

Christophe snatched it up and studied it. He glanced through the enclosed letter.

Seconds later, he was out the door, hurrying off to find Sir Topham Hatt.

to be continued...


	2. The French Connection

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Two - The French Connection

The letter worked its magic. A mere fortnight to the day after he'd brought its contents to the attention of the Fat Controller, Christophe Pelletier and a colleague of his choosing found themselves being picked up at a certain little train station in the South of France and stuffed into a tiny Peugeot being driven by a friendly young Frenchman who owned a salvage yard. The yard, of course, was the one which had been rumoured to contain a very special German steam locomotive, a rumour since confirmed via the now infamous photo and an overseas telephone conversation, and Christophe was about as giddy as a schoolboy on a sugar high as he chatted with the salvage man. Nothing made him happier than the prospect of rescuing an engine in trouble, and pulling one out of the very jaws of mechanical death was about as rewarding as it got. Not that the instrument of death in this case had very sharp teeth. It turned out that the salvage man had been so squeamish about scrapping his lucky windfall that he'd been putting off the awful deed for over three years.

"I didn't even know he was one of the living ones until they swung him off the flatbed," he told Christophe as they drove along. "I've done locomotives before, but they were always old, broken-down freighters and most definitely not alive."

"How'd you get hold of him in the first place?"

"I've got some friends at the rail yard. They tip me off to what's available and one of the drivers told me there was this German war engine up at Strasbourg that they wanted gone for cheap as quick as possible. I made an offer and…well, they unloaded him in my yard a week later."

Christophe shook his head in wonder. "Did you realize what you had? That it was an uncommon class?"

"Not really. My rail friends told me to hang onto him if I could because he'd be a good restoration project, but…no interest. You're the first people who've even wanted to look at him. And just in time, too. I promised myself I'd sell him on to another scrapyard if I couldn't get rid of him before winter, even if it means losing a ton of money. I just can't deal with him anymore. He's taking up space I could put to better use and I've already had to pass up a couple of real deals because of it."

"Why not just scrap him yourself? I mean, you did buy him with that in mind…yes?"

The salvage man literally squirmed in his seat. "I just— I asked my friends about it. They just laughed and told me to do him like any other engine and that he'd die partway through. But that would hurt him, wouldn't it? To just cut into him?"

Christophe opened his mouth, saw the real anguish in the other man's eyes, and bit back the flippant remark he'd been about to utter. Instead, he said, "Actually, it doesn't hurt them as much as you'd think." He studied his host's face again. "Look, tell you what. If it turns out that we can't use him, I can put that engine down for you, if you like. There's a humane method of doing it and it only takes ten minutes. Either way, your problem will be over before we leave."

"You'd do that for me?" He sounded much happier. Christophe felt safe in smiling back.

"Sure! You can help too, if you want, and I'll show you how to do it."

The salvage man grimaced again.

"No, thanks. I'm never taking in any sort of living machine ever again."

"Suit yourself," Christophe said, and this time he did laugh.

The third member of the little party in the auto, sitting in the back seat, continued to add nothing to the conversation, but only because the topic depressed her. Her name was Denise Doyon and she was something of a rarity herself, being among the scant number of women in the world who were certified to work as locomotive drivers. On this occasion, however, such would not be asked of her; she'd been included primarily for her linguistic abilities and also for her keen intuition when it came to assessing a loco's personality in a hurry.

The two men had mercifully moved onto the subject of German engine classes and where the loco they were about to examine fit into the design timeline. "All the 48s were named after birds of prey," Christophe Pelletier was saying. "They were the, er, the, um…Denise! What was that name again? What they called the 48 class?"

"The _Raubvogel_ class," she replied. "Raptors."

"Right. What she said," Christophe continued. "The one good thing about there being only three of them is that we already know that whoever you've got, it has to be either Habicht or Lammergeier. There aren't any others aside from the fellow we've already got back on Sodor."

"I've never seen any sort of nameplate or numbers on him," the salvage man mused. "Are you going to try to talk to him, to get his name? Because he doesn't, really. Talk, I mean. I tried saying hello to him a few times when he first came, but he wouldn't even look at me. Then he started sleeping a lot. That's about all he ever does now. I hope he's all right."

"He's probably in torpor. It's a sort of light hibernation they'll fall into to pass the time. And I should be able to get his individual number off his framework. It'll be stamped in and hard to obliterate. Sometimes you'll find a modified builder's mark too. It'll tell us which of the two 48s he is."

"Oh. Okay. I guess it's better than waking him up until you know for sure you can restore him."

"Exactly," said Christophe. "No need to depress the poor fellow any further, right?"

"Yeah…" the salvage man agreed, sounding pretty depressed himself.

They soon arrived at a modest little one-story dwelling set into the corner of a long rectangular lot completely enclosed by a solid wooden fence built higher than a man's head. The salvage man parked on the road in front of his house and led his visitors through the building to a side entrance which opened directly into the yard proper. As soon as he opened the door, the others could see why it'd been left unlocked; two big black and tan Beaucerons were already waiting on the other side. They dissolved into happy wriggles and wagging tails at sight of their master, who bent to briefly caress them, then became sober and speculative when they spotted their master's companions. Denise and Christophe smiled at the two animals, but didn't try to pet them.

"Nice dogs," said Christophe. "Bet they do a good job looking after the place when you're gone."

"That they do," agreed the salvage man. He held the side door open and motioned at the dogs to go inside. "Let me put them in the house. It's sort of their off-duty sanctum. It also gets pretty hot in the yard this time of year. It stays cooler indoors."

He got no argument from his visitors, who could already feel the heat building even though it was just mid-morning. The other residents in the yard weren't arguing either. They enjoyed the sunshine and were foraging all over.

"Chickens!" Denise exclaimed. "All right! How many have you got?"

"Oh, a couple of dozen and a bunch of chicks just now. They've got their coop and run over there, but I usually let them out in the yard during the day." He indicated a sprawled out bird basking in a depression scratched into the dirt under a nearby quince shrub. "There's my rooster. He's kind of lazy."

As if to challenge the man's words, the fowl in question chose that moment to stand up, vigorously shook all the dust out of his plumage, then waddled off. He did look pretty fat and complacent, though.

The salvage man had also planted several plum trees by the house and there was a fenced-off garden and a grape arbour arching over a little patio equipped with several chairs and a table. It was all very cozy and peaceful-looking. Christophe began to get a good feeling about what he was about to find.

The scrapyard proper was just as tidy as the extended backyard behind the house. The only entrance into the yard seemed to be via a very large double gate, currently locked, at the front end, which opened onto a broad dirt road that stretched all the way to the back end. On the side behind the house were a workshop and a garage and space for the processed, cut-up scrap awaiting pickup. On the other side, all along the south-facing long wall, was laid a length of railway track. The tracks nearest the gate were occupied by a number of metal hopper cars in various states of disassembly. And at the other end of the tracks, right at the front…

"Wow! This is the neatest scrapyard I've ever seen," Denise couldn't help exclaiming at that point with her usual artless enthusiasm. "You've got it planted up and looking really nice and everything. It's not even depressing, just…efficient."

"Thanks!" the salvage man replied with genuine appreciation. "I do try, given that I live here." He pointed at the far end of the tracks. "Well, there's your loco. See what I mean about him taking up a lot of space?"

"Yes, I see that," Christophe said, although what he was thinking was that if the engine had to be stored outside, at least he'd had a high fence on one side to provide a little shelter and a southern exposure to help ward off the damp. Better and better, in other words. He'd pulled idle locomotives out of much worse conditions and gotten them working.

They walked on, the back of the engine's tender looming larger and larger. A proper tub tender, too. Beyond it, the funnel poked up jauntily. The loco even had some decent finish left on its paintjob, just a solid black all over, but still gleaming in the sunlight here and there…

A broody hen suddenly shot out from beneath the loco's tender and stalked towards the chicken coop, clucking madly, trailed after by a string of large, partly feathered cheeping chicks. The three humans stopped and waited, waited for the chickens to cross the dirt road.

"Looks like you've got some little roosters in there," Christophe remarked.

"Hope so," the salvage man said, "or I'll be missing out on some Sunday dinners come fall."

Denise just frowned, then ran on ahead. She wanted to look at the engine's face. Christophe followed, walking fast, examining the loco's wheel configuration as he strode. When he got all the way to the front, he paused to reach up and lay a hand on the long running board, a running board extended and stepped downward to cover the leading wheels. All four of them.

"Well well," he murmured to himself, and smiled again.

Denise, by contrast, wasn't happy at all. She'd found the engine in torpor, just as Christophe had guessed he'd be, and she didn't like trying to assess any loco when in such a state. With their eyes closed and their faces so blank and still, they always looked dead to her. All she could tell from this one's face was that it was undamaged, along with everything else she'd seen of him so far. That part of it seemed an auspicious start.

"It is a 48, isn't it?" she asked Christophe, looking over at him.

"It sure is. I'm standing here with a hand right on it, and I can still barely believe it. What are the odds…"

The salvage man came up and glanced at the engine's face before addressing his two visitors.

"So is he what you're looking for?" he asked hopefully.

Christophe heaved a huge sigh. "He is, and I can't even imagine what stars had to align to bring us all together. Have you got some broad boards you can lay over the ties between the rails? I've got to get underneath him."

"Oh! Sure!"

He hurried off to get the boards and Christophe began a far more critical examination of the engine's wheels and coupling rods in the meantime. Denise managed to get up on the running board by scrambling up between the buffers and walked along on both sides to check out the various access ports and the exterior plating over the boiler. Of course she was no engineer, like Christophe, but she figured she'd do to spot something as obvious as a dent or a hole!

They'd no sooner finished than the salvage man returned with an armload of the requested boards. He watched as the other man positioned them under the loco behind its big driving wheels then wriggled in and out of sight, thinking that it was a good thing that his visitor was built like a spritely retired jockey and barely any taller than his even slighter female friend. In fact, with their similar mops of curly hair, hers light brown, his much shorter and completely grey, they looked enough alike that the salvage man had thought they were related at first, maybe even father and daughter. But no, they'd just known each other for a long time and worked for the same railway.

"Don't bash your head on an axle," Denise called to her unseen colleague, although something in her tone suggested that she wouldn't mind one bit if he did.

"I won't… Oh nuts, I think I just smashed a chicken egg. Hey, there's a nest under here! Anyone want some eggs?"

"No thanks," laughed the salvage man. "I've got plenty already. Just set them aside, but be careful. They might be rotten."

"Okay. Good bye, eggs. Sorry, wannabe mama hen." A minute of silence prevailed, punctuated by the slide of boards being pushed further on over the ties. "Aha," Christophe's voice announced from the midpoint of the loco's long driving array. "Ready for the moment of truth?"

"You found his number?" the woman exclaimed.

"Sure did. Just let me steady my penlight here… Okay. Say hello to four eight zero…one…three."

"Lammergeier…" Denise breathed. "So it's him."

"Yep. Looks like. Let me go see if we've got his original tender too and then I'll be out to start looking at his guts."

"Great. Don't smash any more eggs."

"I'm more worried about other chicken products," Christophe said and the other two heard him start repositioning boards again.

Denise surreptitiously studied their host while they waited for Christophe to check out the tender. Still a young man, good-looking, and lean and fit from all the hard labour he did, yet he seemed to live alone. There was something infinitely sad about his eyes, as though he'd already seen too much during his short span of years, and Denise wondered if he'd lost his family to the Nazis and been a resistance fighter—the age looked about right. Then again, it could have just been the stereotype beret he wore over his glossy black hair that put such thoughts in her head.

"Is it good if he still has his original tender?" the salvage man asked her.

"Well, it's a tub tender. There are lots of them still around and they're not particularly valuable by themselves. But they'd have to be modified to fit this engine, or better yet, he's still pulling the one specifically made for him during his build. So yes, ideally it's the original. It'd make him complete. The 48 we already have, he came to us with a modified tender because he lost his first one to a near miss from a bombing run. It looks the same, more or less, but it's not authentic. I guess that means we can only call our own 48 half-original."

The salvage man nodded. "The more original parts the better."

"Pretty much, if you want to be picky about it," said Denise, then changed her tone to badger her colleague again. "Geez louise, Christophe! Did you fall asleep under there? What's the verdict?"

"The verdict is you're way too impatient. I'm coming out."

The engineer's head appeared behind the engine's driving wheels, held askew because he was hitching himself along on his side. The salvage man helped him out and then helped pull out the boards he'd been using. Christophe thanked him while at the same time trying to fend off his friend's enthusiastic efforts to slap off all the dust and debris he'd accumulated.

"Enough!" he exclaimed. "You're just looking for an excuse to smack me now."

"So tell us what you found out and I'll stop," Denise countered, her grin as broad as his.

"Okay! The tender coupling's in great shape. And yes, it's the original. It's all him from front to back. I also found a builder's mark. He's a Berliner all right. The Borsig Works. They made some great locos." He eyed the salvage man. "Have you been oiling his wheels?"

Their host started, almost guiltily. "Yeah. The guys at the yard told me I should do it at least twice a month until I decided to scrap him. One of them came over and showed me how to do it. Did I do it wrong?"

"Oh heavens, no," Christophe was quick to reassure. "If anything, you helped preserve this engine's life." He paused to give his hands a wipe on the big handkerchief Denise held out to him. "We'll still need to get him up on a lift to know the whole story, but I'm not finding any evidence of any real damage under there. No warping, frame looks fine… Did anyone ever tell you why they wanted to get rid of this engine so badly?"

"I asked about that," the salvage man said. "I was told he was too expensive to run and no good for spare parts."

"Hmm, that actually makes sense. The 48s were pretty much custom-built. They were made almost like showroom models, meant to impress visitors to the Olympics and other Third Reich events…stronger boilers, huge fireboxes, slightly bigger wheels plus the extra axel up front, tons of speed and power yet still lightweight enough to work most any line. This fellow here might have pulled a train carrying some of the Nazi bigwigs themselves."

The salvage man looked impressed.

"I didn't know any of that," he said slowly. "Is it wrong that I rather wish he'd derailed while pulling the bigwigs?"

His visitors laughed. "You and me both, my friend," Christophe chuckled, giving the salvage man a friendly clap on the arm, "although I guess I wouldn't be here right now if that had happened. Look, I've just got one more big ticket item to examine and that's his boiler and firebox. Based on what I've found so far, I'm optimistic."

Christophe's cheerful proclamation made the scrap yard owner even happier. He went off to look over his loco with fresh appreciation, leaving his two now-probable customers to enter the engine's cab and do the rest of their thing on their own. Christophe exchanged his penlight for a much more powerful torch and a few other tools which he fished out of his kitbag, and Denise held the light for him while he worked. The engineer quickly determined that the controls in the cab were sound and functional and that the engine's guts, as he put it, were in excellent condition.

"It's so weird," he mused, looking over a still-clean swab he'd just pulled back out of one of the tubes. "I don't think this engine's been run much for years."

"Maybe he was put in storage during the war?" Denise suggested. "Spare parts for the other two?"

"I suppose that's possible, although that'd only work out if all three were always kept together. Instead, ours got worked half to death by the Russians and this fellow here got handed over to the French…and God only knows what's happened to Habicht."

"I guess we'll have to wait for Lammergeier himself to tell us the story. If we take him."

"Yeah. That'll be your job, if we do, to work out his history. I'll supervise the mechanical end of it."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you speak his lingo and you're a woman. That'll doubly disarm him."

"Gee, thanks. I think," Denise replied dryly.

The salvage man suddenly ran up to the cab, all in a tizzy. "He woke up!" he exclaimed. "His eyes are open and he's looking around."

"Did he say anything?" asked Denise.

"No. But it's good he's awake, right?"

"He probably felt me swabbing his tubes," Christophe said. "Some engines have told me that it feels ticklish to them. Well, here's your chance, old girl. Go scout him out and find out where his head's at. I'm pretty much done here anyway."

"Will do," Denise fired back eagerly as she jumped down out of the cab. At last, an opportunity to find out what sort of personality resided within this new-to-her locomotive! It was always an exciting moment. She bade the salvage man to remain behind, with Christophe, and then hurried forward to place herself in front of Lammergeier and looked up.

The engine was indeed awake. He looked back at her with dull eyes devoid of spirit or any real interest, his gaze only falling on her because of where she was standing and because there was nothing else for him to look at.

"Lammergeier? Are you Lammergeier, number four eight zero one three?" she said sharply in German.

His transformation was instant, remarkable, and complete. Life leapt back into the dull eyes. Shock, confusion, and distrust flickered across the chiseled alloy face, which then settled itself into an expression of intense, yet wary scrutiny.

"Who are you?" he asked after a long moment's reflection, his deep clipped voice hoarse with disuse.

"My name is Denise Doyon. I'm a railway worker."

"In what capacity?"

Denise felt a touch of unease. The harsh, whispery quality of the engine's voice made it sound almost as though he were interrogating her and his gaze had become piercing. Locomotives were normally subservient to humans by their very nature, but this one sounded as though he had issues…not unlike his brother.

"I am an engine driver."

Lammergeier muttered under his breath in a way which sounded derogatory, although too garbled to quite make out.

"Untrue," he replied at last. "There are no female drivers."

"Not in Germany, perhaps," Denise countered, "but I'm from Canada. And I'm currently driving my share of engines on the North Western Railway on the Island of Sodor, thank you very much."

That set him back a notch, although he still appeared suspicious.

"I see… I suppose I will have to accept that, since I have no way of confirming such a claim."

"Sure you do. And you haven't yet confirmed what I asked you earlier…whether you are in fact Lammergeier."

He took his time answering. "That was my name, yes," he finally said.

"It still is," Denise replied, puzzled by his hesitant response. "Or did you acquire a different name I don't know about?"

Lammergeier stared straight ahead, taking his time again.

"I was a number."

"Sit tight," Denise told him, and walked back to his cab. The salvage yard owner was still standing there, waiting for her on the road.

"You got him talking!" he exclaimed in French. "Is he all right?"

"He's fine," Denise snapped and looked for Christophe. She saw her friend back by the engine's tender, bent over to examine its rearmost wheels, and marched over to him. "So, are we buying him or not?"

The uncommon tension evident in her tone made Christophe straighten up at once.

"Well, I haven't found any reason not to take him yet," he said. "Why? Did you find something?"

"When you get him restored and you start taking him out for his test runs, all I ask is that you wait until I'm available to drive, okay? That's all I ask!"

Christophe started to grin. It wasn't often that he saw Denise, a normally cheerful, easy-going woman, so rattled.

"Uh oh. What happened? Bad temperament?"

"Rotten jerk, he won't believe I'm a driver!" she fumed. "No way of confirming, he said… I'll confirm it all right. Just let me put him through his paces and I'll drive the hell out of him!"

Christophe began to laugh, he couldn't help it. The salvage man, who'd timidly crept closer in the meantime, looked from one to the other of them, unsure of what to think.

"Did he…say something bad?" he ventured.

"Missus Doyon's just a bit touchy when it comes to someone questioning her professional abilities," Christophe explained, still grinning up a storm. "Especially when it's from a locomotive."

"Jiminy H Cricket!" the Missus in question swore. "He's not depressed in the least, by the way. He's just bitter and angry. You should have seen him come alive as soon as I spoke German to him."

"Oh. Well, that's good, I guess," the salvage man said. "I always felt so sorry for him. Does he understand French at all?"

"We didn't get that far," Denise replied, calming down some. "He'd probably say he doesn't even if he did."

Christophe cracked up again. "My goodness, he really got to you, didn't he? It must be something inherent in the class. I haven't seen you so mad at an engine since Adi wanted you thrown out of his cab."

"Adi?"

"This one's brother," said Denise. "But Adi came around and he's a real sweetheart now. This thing here…" She jerked her head towards Lammergeier's front end. "He's got something going on that raised my hackles for a few seconds."

Christophe's smile faded and the two railway workers stood in silent contemplation for a moment. The salvage yard owner was still somewhat baffled.

"Are you saying he's…dangerous? That you don't want him?" he asked.

"No, no, he's just…it's just his attitude. It's not one you often find in an engine, especially not when it's one that's waiting to be scrapped."

"They're more typically depressed and apathetic," Christophe expanded. "Frightened sometimes, but usually resigned. And they're always grateful when they're rescued. They know better than to give anyone in charge of their fate any lip." A hint of amusement resurfaced as he went on. "Aside from this one, of course, according to my colleague. It would be a German engine mouthing off at her, too. She's had her fun with our other German engine before," he concluded, and Denise scowled at him.

"Don't _you_ start now."

"Heh heh, I wouldn't dream of it. Look, I'm ready to sign off on what I've found. He's in really good shape, physically. Why don't we go talk to this nasty fiend of yours together and find out if he even wants to be restored?"

"Oh, he wants it all right," Denise muttered. "He's too smart to not want it."

"Well then, let's go start taming him down a bit. You did fine with Adi. Bet this one'll be fine too once he realizes we're offering him a second chance."

"He'd better be…"

The two railway workers went forward to stand in front of Lammergeier again, trailed after by the now nervous salvage man. The big engine stared down at them with cool attentiveness, oozing sullen hostility.

"Hello again," Denise said, switching back to German as she addressed him. "I don't suppose you can speak French, can you? Or English?"

"No. I cannot."

The cold, almost disdainful delivery made Christophe raise an eyebrow and the salvage yard owner shrink back. It was as the woman had said—Lammergeier was not in the least bit intimidated by his situation, although he had every reason to be. It was highly unusual, to say the least.

"He says he doesn't speak French, or English," Denise passed on to the other two before continuing on in German again. "Well, that's unfortunate, Lammergeier. I'll have to act as interpreter then. This gentleman here beside me, the one who was in your cab examining you earlier, is Mister Christophe Pelletier, a fellow North Western Railway employee and one of our very best engineers and a specialist-consultant for all of Sodor's foreign engines. The owner of our railway is interested in purchasing you and having you restored, and sent the both of us here to look you over and act on his behalf. Is that something you would like, to be brought back to work with us on Sodor? We do have our own steamworks and you'd have all your repairs done there, if you're interested."

For three long beats, the stern grey face regarding them remained perfectly immobile, then he began to blink rapidly as Lammergeier's haughty façade wavered for the first time. He was still bitter and angry, but he also wanted to live, and for that to happen he was willing to make concessions.

"This is…true?" he asked. "What you are telling me is true?"

His continued doubt, even at such a moment, exasperated Denise. "Of course it's true! Do you honestly think we'd come all this way and go through the pretense of looking you over just to make a sick joke? Come on now, Lammergeier, how horrid do you think we are? This is your life we're discussing here!"

Something in her impassioned outburst finally got through.

"Yes. My life," he murmured. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. "What did you mean when you spoke of my having a brother and the man said you had another German engine?"

Denise felt as though someone had thrown a pail of cold water over her. Of all the—!

"Why, you liar!" she exclaimed as soon as she could speak again. She added a short laugh of disbelief. "I _knew_ you could understand French!"

"If you can call what you speak French. That man with you has a terrible accent."

His rudeness was so astounding that Denise was, for the first time in her life, at a literal loss for words. She looked so stricken that Christophe and the salvage man both noticed and began staring at her. Finally, Christophe, concerned, plucked at her arm.

"What… Denise? What's wrong? What did he say to you?"

But she was too busy still glaring at Lammergeier. The engine still had his eyes closed, but his expression had altered. His brows had lifted and his mouth, which had been compressed into a taut, straight line, had relaxed and gone soft. She could see some sibling resemblance about his mouth now that it had softened—like Adler, he had thin, almost delicately moulded lips for such a large engine. If she could get him smiling, he'd probably appear quite handsome.

"Mister Lammergeier," she said carefully, speaking to Christophe in French once she'd found her voice again, "would be delighted to come back to Sodor with us. We also needn't worry about any further translating woes because Mister Lammergeier has suddenly remembered that he understands French perfectly well after all… _nicht wahr, Lammergeier?_ "

Now it was the men's turn to look surprised as they regarded Denise, then the engine, then Denise again. While they did, Lammergeier took his time contemplating the little human's demand for an answer, the last of his foul mood sloughing away. "Perhaps I do," he finally admitted in excellent Parisian, opening his eyes, and with the meanness gone out of them, Denise could see the brotherly resemblance there too. More importantly, she no longer felt uneasy in his presence. Truly psychotic engines were few and far between and were never tolerated for long. Issues and justifiable anger she could deal with.

Christophe, with his even longer span of experience, could deal too. "Well, hello to you directly then, Lammergeier," he said in a pleasant, conversational tone. "I sense that you and my colleague just had a bit of a confrontation. Care to elaborate?"

"She caught me in my lie about understanding French," the locomotive replied readily, his whole demeanour now honest and open. "And I eavesdropped earlier when you were discussing me, by my tender." He lowered his gaze briefly. "I know you have one of my brothers."

The older man shifted his feet. He would have preferred withholding that information so as not to overwhelm this new engine, but perhaps finding out was what had helped shock him out of his bad temper. Truth be told, he hadn't been too impressed when first observing the engine's hostility for himself. Deception, as long as it was admitted to, he could overlook, however. Nobody yet knew what sort of experiences lay in Lammergeier's past, except Lammergeier himself, and for all anyone knew, they might have been horrific.

"We do have one of your brothers back on Sodor, yes," Christophe said, deciding to be open and honest himself. "He came to us about two and a half years ago, thanks to the efforts of a very kind man who last drove him in Germany."

"Which one…"

"Oh, sorry. It's Adler, the one we have. Or Adi, that's what we call him…Adi the Eagle. I'm afraid we don't know where Habicht is or what's happened to him."

"Thank you," said Lammergeier softly.

The salvage yard owner was staring at his one-time property again, open-mouthed, with tears in his eyes. Denise and Christophe both noticed his reaction and exchanged sympathetic glances. Most everyday people didn't understand or appreciate how emotional and human-like an engine could be and Lammergeier had certainly put on a whole rollercoaster's worth of emotional display just now. It had to be a little disconcerting for the salvage man to watch. One thing was clear, though—if he'd expressed doubts about being able to scrap him before, he certainly wouldn't be able to now.

Sure enough, the poor man followed up on his stare by taking off his cap and swiping a hand over his face. "My God," he breathed, "I had no idea…" More loudly, he added, "You have to take him. I can't deal with this anymore. I don't want him put down either. I need you to take him away while he's still alive."

"Don't worry. I think we can make both of you happy," said Christophe, placing a kindly hand on the shaken man's shoulder. "Do you know where I could make an overseas call or send a telegram? I'd like to get in touch with my boss as soon as I can so we can start hashing out a price—"

"Thank the Christ, yes, I know a place where you can call. And thank you! I can't cut that engine up, not anymore. Come on, I'll drive you right now."

The salvage man hurried away without even waiting for a reply or looking back to see if he was being followed. Christophe aimed a smile and a thumbs-up at Denise in his wake.

"He'll probably give him to us for free now," he chortled.

"Don't you dare! He's really upset."

"I know, I'm just kidding. Do you want to come with us or stay and make nice with our new engine?"

Denise looked at Lammergeier who looked right back at her, face impassive. As she'd suspected, he did look quite a lot like Adler and he was just as handsome.

"I guess I could stay and start cleaning him up a little. There's a flipping cobweb on his funnel."

"Atta girl..."

Christophe jogged off after the salvage yard man, and after a moment, Denise heard a car start up and drive off from in front of the salvage man's house. She was now alone with Lammergeier. And the chickens. Sniffling and wrinkling her nose, she turned to face the engine.

"Well, it looks like—"

Lammergeier winked at her.

Denise felt surprised and yet not surprised. Deliberately, and on a hunch, she switched back to English and asked, "Did you just wink at me?"

" _Nein._ I hef somezing in my eye."

"Aaannd he understands and speaks English too. This is the second time you've lied to me. You're a very naughty engine. Maybe I should tell Christophe that you've changed your mind and don't want to come with us after all. Actually, I don't recall you even having a say in that…do you want to come with us, Lammergeier? I assumed you would, but I shouldn't assume, even though I'm so mad at you right now that part of me wants to take a blowtorch to you myself."

The big German engine regarded her. Warmly and with gratitude despite her profession of anger.

"I vant to see my brother," he said.

Denise went off to find some water, rags, and a short ladder. She got up on his running board and wiped away the cobweb and began to clean his face.

Lammergeier sighed and closed his eyes again, content.

to be continued...


	3. Back On Track

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Three - Back On Track

It only took a few days more to arrange for Lammergeier's transport to Sodor and for his purchase check to come through. The amount was more than enough to put a big smile on the salvage man's face, for Christophe had even managed to get Sir Topham Hatt to add a little extra to pay for the engine's three years of board and care, and Denise additionally promised to send him photos of Lammergeier once he was properly painted up in his new livery and working alongside his brother. The last they saw of the young Frenchman was him waving farewell as their train pulled out of the little village's station. With his lucky windfall finally off to a good new home and the money in the bank, he was a happy man.

The subject of their new engine and his emerging personality came up often during the two railway workers' own trip home. Christophe already liked Lammergeier and was optimistic. Denise was less so. Truth be told, she wasn't sure how she felt about Lammergeier yet. She normally found engines easy to understand. They had less complex minds and simpler motivations than most humans and could bounce back from the worst of hardships with far less baggage. But Lammergeier seemed to be one of those engines caught in the process of still bouncing—his personality seemed wayward to her. Denise consoled herself by thinking about Adler, who'd undergone his own journey, and what a pleasant and charming engine he'd turned out to be. Lammergeier might have it in him to become the same, given time.

However, there was one trait of his which she couldn't wait on. She was still stuck on Lammergeier's rudeness.

"I've never met such a disrespectful engine," she complained to her colleague. "Did you even once hear him use a sir or a ma'am or anything like that? Wait'll he gets to Sodor and runs into Sir Topham Hatt. He won't put up with that kind of nonsense for a second."

Christophe grinned. "I wouldn't count on that. In fact, I suspect we'll see a whole other side to that loco as soon as he's unloaded. And I don't think he's been rude, exactly. There's actually a more flattering explanation. He's probably been relating to us as he would to other engines."

"What?"

"Well, think about it. He's been alone for years. No one to talk to, no friends to be had, unless you count the guy who's always hanging around and who might take a blowtorch to you any second. I'm thinking that's what was really behind his being in such a bad mood when he first woke up, especially since all you had to do was make your spiel and—bam! Total turnaround!"

"He did not turn around, he made fun of your accent!"

"Yeah, well, he warmed up after that. I really do think he's just been desperate for a friend. You don't say sir or ma'am to your friends."

"You don't lie to them either, but he did."

"Oh, he just enjoys kidding around with you. He likes you. I can tell."

"Why in the world would he like me? I point-blank told him he was a liar and a naughty engine. And that was just during our first meeting!"

"Yes, but when I went off to call Sir Topham Hatt, you chose to stay behind and start caring for him and gave him comfort. Don't think he didn't pick up on that. He's very clever."

Denise fumed. She'd really only stayed because she'd been taken in by Lammergeier's resemblance to Adler. She hadn't known at the time how much their personalities differed.

"It was also you he turned to when he got scared on the flatbed," Christophe reminded her, and her brief anger withered at once. That had actually been a rather sad scene. During his removal from the salvage man's yard, at the instant his wheels had first touched down on the flatbed rails as he was being lowered, Lammergeier's eyes had suddenly flown wide open with terror and he'd glanced wildly about until he'd spotted her. Denise, shocked and alarmed by his inexplicable reaction, had run forward and gotten as close as she could to him without getting in the way and tried talking him down, soothing him with familiar German phrases and gently explaining what he should expect during his journey to come until the fear had left his eyes and he'd become calm again. Why he'd taken such a sudden terrible fright was still unknown to them, but there was no denying that it had been real and that he'd responded to her placating words. It was yet another of the unknown mysteries hidden in Lammergeier's past.

"Well, um, I'm sure you would have done fine too," she countered lamely, then let the topic slide.

That was then. This was now. No matter what she thought of Lammergeier's personality, Denise still had every intention of driving him once he was ready. Although she went straight back to her usual job once back on Sodor and wasn't present during Lammergeier's eventual arrival, she did keep close tabs on the new engine's progress via Christophe, who was supervising his restoration. Unfortunately, Christophe's progress reports tended to be rather terse at best, ranging from such fact-filled winners as "oh, he's fine" to the even more scintillating "he's doing pretty good". All Denise knew for sure was that Lammergeier hadn't gotten himself kicked off the Island yet, which did argue for his having learned to behave himself at the very least.

Eventually, Christophe let her know that Lammergeier would be all set to go the following day. Denise got permission to change her schedule, fortified herself the next morning with an extra-good breakfast and two cups of coffee, then drove up to the Sodor Steamworks at Crovan's Gate to finally see how Lammergeier was doing for herself.

She found him waiting just inside one of the middle bays, and from outside and a little distance away, he looked…pretty much as he had in the French scrapyard. Then again he hadn't exactly been bashed up and damaged to any great degree.

Lammergeier's whole face lit up the instant he saw Denise walk in. " _Endlich!_ You are here _zu_ drive ze hell out of me, _na?_ " he said by way of greeting as she came up to him.

So. Not only an accomplished eavesdropper, but one with uncommonly keen hearing and memory, Denise thought. No conversation held within his cab or anywhere near him would be safe from now on, she realized further with dismay.

"Well, hello to you too," she said back, somewhat sourly. Still, it was nice to see him cheerful. A couple of fitters hovering by Lammergeier's left-hand driving wheels and injecting a last bit of lubrication snickered over the exchange.

"Lambchop's been waiting for you since dawn," one of them said, smiling, then reached way up to pat the edge of the engine's running board. "Haven't you, big fellow?"

Denise blinked. "Excuse me. Lambchop? You called him Lambchop?"

"Sure! Lum-whatever's way too hard a name for us English folk so that's what we call him now. Like Adi for whatever Adi's real name is. Cute, no?"

" _Ja!_ I chop ze lambs," Lammergeier added smugly.

Denise felt as though her head would explode. "But-but that's not what it means at all!" she sputtered. "Lambchop's like—like calling someone Lambkin or Lambie. It's a sort of endearment!"

"Vhat? Am I not endearink?"

The fitters snickered again.

"Yeah! You saying Lambchop here's not endearing?" the guy who'd patted him exclaimed, playing along. "That's kind of mean of you. I thought you loved locomotives."

The woman threw her arms up, admitting defeat. "Fine. Lambchop it is then. It's only the most ridiculous name I've ever heard for an engine, but if Lammergeier's happy with—"

"Not happy, _ekstatisch!_ " the loco interrupted, and his two fitters, who'd had no trouble understanding the meaning of his exclamation, burst into full-fledged laughter. Denise aimed a fake glare at the men as she passed them on her way to Lammergeier's cab.

"There's way too much hilarity going on in this workshop, way too much," she scolded them. "Don't you know you're supposed to be moaning and groaning about your untenable workloads and cussing out all the messed-up engines who make you work so hard?"

The men just chuckled.

"Lambchop makes it fun," the friendly guy said, and patted him again.

Denise carried on without comment, her expression now thoughtful. Had she misjudged the big German engine? Christophe had thought that he had a hidden side. It was obvious that Lammergeier was getting on splendidly well with the workmen at the steamworks and he was making an effort to speak English, even though his accent was laughable, so perhaps Christophe was correct. She mounted the steps to the engine's cab, ready to eat some crow; Christophe had already told her that he'd be coming along on the test run as her fireman.

She found a nice fire already on the go, but no fireman. The chief engineer in charge of the steamworks was in the cab, though, sitting on a folding chair with at least three clipboards laden with pages balanced on his lap. He looked up and smiled as she came in.

"Good morning! Glad to see you," he said. "We're almost set to go here."

"Hello, Mister Baker. Where's my fireman?"

"Christophe? He's back by the forge, I think. He wants to have a word with you before we leave."

"Oh for— What now?"

"Just something about the engine. Take your time. I'm still getting my charts in order."

Denise climbed out again and went looking for her colleague. Sure enough she found him in between the foundry and the forge, looking over a recently made wheel still cooling on a grate.

"What on Earth are you doing way back here?"

Christophe just grinned and pointed over at Lammergeier. "Why do you think?"

"What—oh. Of course. Bloody snoop."

"The worst," Christophe agreed. "But then, I can't blame him. He knows we're restoring him and mean to put him back to work, but he's still a little anxious under all that bravado."

"Oh, is that what you call it? I was going to ask what's up with all the smiles and chuckles. And Lambchop? Seriously? Who's the idiot who came up with that?"

"One of the fitters, I think," said the engineer. "It's Lamb—oh hell—I mean, Lammergeier himself who's been encouraging them to use it. You were right about thinking he was smart, by the way. He is. He's been working the people here all week, ingratiating himself as best he can. It's been spooky to watch. Way too human. I just wanted to give you a heads-up on what we're dealing with here before we go back to him."

"Oh-kaaay," Denise said slowly. "How'd the meeting with Adi go?"

"Touching, actually. They both started sobbing and we had to walk away for a while. Lots of emotion. They definitely care for each other, which I was glad to see for Lammergeier's sake."

"For his—what? What d'you mean?"

"I mean, he's capable of feeling something good. He's got empathy. That's a huge plus for him."

"Good heavens, you make it sound like you thought he was psycho or something!" Denise exclaimed with a short laugh. "You don't…do you?"

Christophe shrugged. "No. He's just too smart, is what I'm saying. Just keep that in mind."

"I don't think being smart is a bad thing. Justin's smart. And so are Francois and Edward," Denise pointed out.

"This is different," Christophe insisted. "Look, I've got to throw a few more coals on his fire to get him up to full steam, so whyn't you go talk to him a bit more until I do. He's been all excited about you coming over to drive him since I got here. Speak German to him. He'll like that."

"Oh great. I'm the one who gets on well with the loony loco, is that it? That's some compliment."

"Heh. He's not loony, he's…interesting. Just go chat with him for a few minutes while I finish up. Keep him calm, if you can. He's been pretty antsy."

The two went back to their locomotive, where Christophe peeled off to climb up into the engine's cab while Denise carried on to his front end. The two fitters from earlier had left and it was just her and Lammergeier now. He fixed his gaze on her the instant she entered his field of vision, looking intense and expectant…and a little desperate.

"So, a happy update," she said to him at once in German. "Mister Pelletier's just about to get you up to full steam and we should be underway shortly. Excited?"

"Yes! Very much so," Lammergeier replied, switching back to his first language in turn with relief. He didn't like speaking English, or French either, for that matter. He stared past the woman, through the bay doors and at the world outside for a moment, his longing evident, so evident that Denise felt bad for having thought ill of him earlier. It wasn't his fault if he came off as aggravating, she thought. She'd probably act weird too if she'd been stuck on death row for years and then got a reprieve. To compound her sense of guilt, he suddenly added, "I haven't moved under my own power for over five years."

"Oh, um, that's a while," she remarked.

Drat the thing! Now she felt sorry for him. Then a certain discrepancy in what he'd just said niggled at her.

"Wait. Five years? I thought you were in the scrapyard for only three years."

Lammergeier's eyes narrowed. "I was in the Strasbourg yard before that."

"And you—what? Sat idle in storage the whole time? On a siding?"

"On a siding. I did not want to be there. I wanted to work. I _did_ work the first week after I was sent there and the drivers liked me and even asked for me. But then…" His voice grew ever grimmer, rough with remembered resentment. "There was a man, the yardmaster. He began ordering the crews not to take me, to take any of the other engines instead. He said to them I was not _economical_. So I sat there, watching the others come and go. I sat there for two years and in the end I am sure it was he who arranged to have me thrown away. I hated that man. I hated him so much! I would have run him over if I could."

Denise just looked at him. It wasn't the first time she'd heard locomotives say such things. Justin was the worst and was always threatening to flatten someone; he and Pierre had a whole shtick worked out which involved her husband calling for a cutting torch to take Justin apart and the engine swearing to run him down in revenge. But when Justin said it, it was always in jest and accompanied by a gleeful grin and sparkling eyes. Lammergeier's expression was dead serious and his eyes were flat and hard.

Again, she felt a tickle on the back of her neck. It was the same feeling she'd gotten back in the French scrapyard when she'd first met Lammergeier, the fleeting sense that something was off about him. Something else then occurred to her that was even worse, the remembrance that engines on Sodor were always put away in their berths at the end of their work day with their fires dying, but their boilers still hot. It allowed them steam enough to move about a little in the sheds and settle themselves as they pleased for some time until their boilers cooled and their residual steam was spent.

Lammergeier could catch someone crossing in front of him while he was still cooling down. Or he could lurch forward and knock someone off his running board.

"You—you don't mean that," said Denise, and he glanced at her out of eyes that had suddenly gone bright and lively again.

"Of course not. I was joking."

"Some joke. You do realize we're all here for the sole purpose of getting you back on track, right?"

"I know." He fixed his full attention on her again and adopted a pleading expression in place of the ugly indignation he'd just shown. "Are you climbing aboard now? I feel in full steam and would like to move. You can drive the hell out of me all you want as long as I can move again."

The woman's head was still spinning a little from what she'd just witnessed, but his words sounded genuine, and in any case, he was right about being in full steam; Christophe had stuck his head and an arm out of the side window of the engine's cab and was gesturing at her. Her friend would no doubt be glad that she'd just ferreted out two more years of Lammergeier's history, even if it reflected somewhat poorly on the engine's character. Denise sighed inwardly and decided to set her reservations aside for the moment. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand, not waste her time thinking about what her engine _might_ do based on some angry reminiscence.

"Okay, Lammergeier, let's see what you can do," she said, giving the end of his buffer beam a pat.

"Thank you. Thank you so much!"

Well, certainly a change from the initial reception she'd gotten from Adler when it came to their first trip out of the works. She supposed she ought to feel relieved; at least she wasn't going to have to scream at Lammergeier to get him moving. A faint mist of steam was just starting to vent out about his wheels. He was ready to go all right. For better or worse, she went back to his cab again and climbed aboard.

For the human beings who care for locomotives, there are few things more rewarding than to be present when a brand new engine first awakens. Their expression when first fired up, the first wheel-turn, their sheer delight at being alive and underway…it's a beautiful thing to witness. Almost as gratifying is to share in an engine's return to the rails after a long, long layup. Such locos already know what they've been missing out on and because of that, their new-found delight can sometimes be laced with a little anxiety and impatience. Denise and Christophe were both expecting Lammergeier to give them trouble and braced themselves as the steam began to flow.

Nothing. Not a knock or a wrench or the slightest jostle to indicate that the ten big driving wheels were turning at all as they gripped and completed their first revolution, then turned again. The big engine moved out of the steamworks and onto the transfer table as smoothly as the proverbial silk and paused there. Mister Baker, the chief engineer, made a notation on one of his clipboarded papers.

"Good. Let's take him southwest, over to Kellsthorpe Road. We can run him a bit through the cutting."

"Will do," Denise acknowledged, and exchanged a happy smile with Christophe.

As it turned out, they'd smiled too soon for their engine was merely biding his time. They'd no sooner gotten onto the mainline than the throttle lever suddenly came alive in the woman's hand, pulling hard towards the full open position. She grit her teeth and hung on. " _Langsam, Lammergeier! Langsam,_ " she managed to call out. " _Vorsichtig bitte!_ "

To her relief, he listened and the control went slack again. She gave her abused hand a quick shake. It had taken all her strength to restrain him and she knew that if he'd really wanted to, he could have overridden her in a heartbeat; no human in the world could outmuscle a locomotive. The chief engineer standing behind her gave a little snort of good humour.

"This one you have to hold back and talk down, and the other one you had to yell at to get moving at all," he remarked. "Bloody obstinate Germans."

"But well-made obstinate Germans," Denise pointed out.

"True, that," Mister Baker said, and everyone in the cab laughed.

Lammergeier wasn't laughing, but only because he was annoyed, primarily with himself. His driver's commands to slow down and be careful, shouted in German, had kicked in his innate obedience and he'd aborted his attempted bolt without really thinking about it. Part of him still wanted to run off, a larger part now wanted to cooperate. He did kind of like the little female human at his controls, after all, and he was bemused to find that she was indeed just as capable as any other driver…so far. He supposed that he owed her and so chuffed on at the speed set and no more, although he did still pull a tiny bit now and then to let her know that he wanted to go faster.

And she'd had to yell at Adler to get him moving? What was THAT all about? Lammergeier sensed there was a juicy story to be had there and began to pull hard again in his excitement; Denise calmed him a second time with pats on the wall of his cab and an entreaty to be gentle. This amused him more than anything—he? gentle? Still, he did like being petted and agreeably settled down once more.

But the glorious rush of the steam and the thrum of his wheels made it SO hard to go slow! It seemed like forever since he'd had a hot boiler and strength enough to do anything, and he wanted the wind in his face and to hear the rhythmic clickety-clack as he sped over the sections. And everything still worked fine, he was sure of it, he could feel it. How much longer would he have to dawdle along like this? he fretted, leaning on his poor driver again.

Both engineers by now had noticed Denise's difficulties in holding the throttle steady and exchanged grins.

"Giving you a hard time, is he?" Christophe asked.

"Oh, he's just eager to go," said Denise, then raised her voice to add, "And smart enough to know that engines who don't take it easy at first after being laid up for a long time will only make any problems they might have ten times worse… _richtig?_ "

Lammergeier didn't answer, but he did smirk. She didn't intimidate easily, this one. He liked that about her. Her grey-haired friend had some grit in him too and he was far too shrewd because when he looked at you, you felt yourself being sized up, which made Lammergeier squirm. He was the one who was used to sizing up the humans, not the other way around. At least the grey-haired man didn't seem to be in charge of too much. It was the English-speaking engineer riding in his cab right now who ran the steamworks, Lammergeier had determined early on, and the one who had the final say and who issued the permits and certificates. A man to cultivate and curry favour with, in other words, if one were a steam locomotive looking to return to the rails.

And a man to suddenly love as he uttered the magic words, "Okay, let's run him up. Nice and easy and if he feels good to you, let him have full steam."

Full steam! Full steam! Lammergeier gloated wildly, barely able to contain himself. Yes, sir! As you wish, sir! Full steam ahead it is! He almost trembled as he waited for his cues. Oh, hurry it up, woman! he wanted to shout. Didn't you hear him say I could go?

She had and turned him loose. Gradually. Lammergeier lugged on the throttle the whole time, asserting himself, but not pulling so badly that he came off as uncontrollable to the all-important, watchful chief engineer. Eager would be all right, though, Lammergeier thought. He wanted the man to think of him as eager to work and high-spirited. Finally, he was given free rein, and the wind began to whistle past him and the rails began their rhythmic clatter. A minute more and he was in full charge, going faster and faster, his expression becoming almost beatific in his great joy.

All too soon he was eased back down and made to go slower, but only because they were running out of safe track on which to speed. Lammergeier had been so immersed in his need to move that he'd paid not one wit of attention to his surroundings. He looked around now, really seeing the fields, the trees, the simple rural landscape for the first time. So this was Sodor. Huh. And here came some sort of village, where he was forced to go slower than ever. There was a little station coming up too, and much to his annoyance, he was asked to stop at the main platform. Lammergeier obeyed, but not happily. He could not see one valid reason to halt at what amounted to a glorified whistle stop.

The chief engineer and Christophe both climbed out of the cab and greeted the stationmaster, who came out of his office to look over the unusual new arrival. "That the one from France?" he asked. "The new Adi?"

"Not so new, but he does run like new. So far," the chief steamworks engineer said happily. Then everyone shook hands and the men began talking about mundane railway matters and Lammergeier found himself getting more and more irritated. The two engineers were supposed to be testing him, not stopping partway through to gossip with some random rail employee! The engine didn't realize that the stop actually _was_ part of his test, meant to simulate the demands of everyday passenger work.

The stationmaster was a keen gardener and had set up a number of large barrel planters on his own initiative to decorate his station. He led his visitors from one grouping to the other to admire the flowers; one extra-large container even housed a climbing rose which was blooming beautifully. Lammergeier moodily watched as the men sniffed at some of the pinkish rose blossoms. He wished that a bee would fly out and sting them all on the nose.

The whistle of an approaching engine, rather high-pitched, diverted Lammergeier's attention. A smallish green tank engine pulling a couple of flatbeds laden with straw bales puffed into view on the through track on the other side of the station. His face brightened as soon as he spotted Lammergeier and he opened his mouth, but then shut it again before he said anything, his expression becoming puzzled. Lammergeier regarded him coolly. The tank engine had no doubt mistaken him for Adler at first.

Denise suddenly yanked on Lammergeier's whistle to toot back a greeting and leaned out of the cab window to wave. "Hey there, cutey!" she yelled at the green loco. "Hi, guys!"

"Hi, Missus Doyon!" the little engine called back and whistled again. His crew waved back too, as he passed. Up front, Lammergeier shut his own mouth with a sudden snap. He'd been about to shout "stop that!" when his driver had activated his whistle because he didn't believe that engines ought to be socializing when on duty, and had remembered that the two engineers were still within earshot just in time. Angering the woman he didn't much care about—he had her number already and knew she'd forgive him most anything—but the two men were a different story. They could make trouble for him if they thought badly of him.

"That was Percy," his driver remarked in a cheerful tone. "Sweet little fellow. You'll see him around Knapford a lot once you're down there. He shunts together the morning trains sometimes."

Don't care, want to go, Lammergeier pouted, keeping his mouth prudently shut.

To his relief, the flower tour finally ended and the engineers got back aboard. Denise sent him on. Lammergeier chuffed along, the very picture of docile obedience, willing to behave now that he was underway again and had gotten the tickle out of his wheels and felt reassured about his own fitness.

Then it happened.

Mister Baker suddenly cocked his head to one side. "Do you hear that?" he said.

Christophe already had his head tilted as well. "I was just about to comment on that. Is the beat off?"

"Maybe. Denise, could you slow him down about twenty klicks and then bring him back up to this exact speed? Very slowly, if you please."

She did as asked, looking worried. The two engineers listened intently while Lammergeier sped back up.

"There it is again," said the chief engineer. He looked over all the steam gauges, tried adjusting one valve and then another. Now even Denise could hear the problem, a faint irregularity in the way the engine's steam was blowing out, almost like a mechanical heart murmur. Mister Baker readjusted the last valve he'd moved and the faint murmur lessened. "Something in the cylinders, perhaps."

"One of the pistons stroking short?"

"Maybe. Well, whatever it is, we can sort it out back at the steamworks. Turn him around wherever you can, Denise. We'll have another go after lunch."

Lammergeier limped back to Crovan's Gate, crestfallen, paying not one wit's worth of attention to his surroundings again.

Once back at the steamworks, Lammergeier was backed into the exact same position from which he'd departed and the chief engineer spoke to the foreman of the regular fitters working the day shift and asked him to see to it that the covers were taken off both of Lammergeier's cylinders and the inner structures made ready for inspection for when he returned. Then he, Christophe and Denise went off to treat themselves to an early lunch. Neither engineer said anything to the engine before they left, nor did they give Denise the time to do so...they just went. The woman, trailing behind, couldn't help turning around to have a last look at Lammergeier's despairing face even so.

"Aren't we going to say anything at all to him?" she asked.

"Nah," said Christophe. "Lunch first."

"But he looks really upset."

"So? He'll draw his own conclusions from the fact that we're leaving at all. Don't baby that engine, Denise. He'll take advantage of you and run you ragged."

"Oh, I don't think so…" She stewed about it all the way to the chief engineer's car out in the parking lot and once inside, added, "So you must already know what's wrong with him…do you?"

"It's almost certainly just debris-related. Stuff gets into them when engines are kept idle outside and exposed to the elements," Mister Baker said. "Something likely got shook loose—or even steamed loose—during his run. Whatever it is, it's throwing off his rhythm so we'll try the easy fix first."

The chief engineer sounded so confident and unconcerned that Denise was able to sit back and relax and later enjoy the steak and kidney pie she shared with Christophe on top of their ploughman's lunch. Crovan's Gate might not have been a teeming metropolis, but it did have some terrific pubs and little restaurants. However, even a bellyful of good food lost its charm when they returned to the steamworks an hour later and Denise started thinking about Lammergeier again. She rushed off to find out how the loco was doing as soon as they entered the big building, not even bothering to find out first whether anything to explain his off performance had been found. Mister Baker smiled, a little touched by her obvious compassion for an ailing machine. Christophe just shook his head.

Lammergeier looked as though he was still wearing the exact same miserable beseeching expression as when Denise had last seen him, and as soon as he spotted her coming back, he exclaimed in a heartbreaking wail, "I'm broken!"

"What the— No, you're not. You just got clogged up with a bunch of stupid leaves or something. Nobody's even worried about it. Why do you think we all went off for lunch?"

"Are you certain?"

"Well, no. But let me go ask…"

She went back to where her lunch-mates had joined a little knot of fitters clustered about one of the opened cylinders. All of them were craning their necks, trying to look closely at something inside it.

"What's up?"

"You tell us," one of the fitters said.

Mister Baker already had his hand inside the body of the cylinder, picking at something stuck to the rearmost inner wall. Christophe passed him a chair and he sat and began digging at the anomaly again, this time with a flathead screwdriver. It started to come off in thick irregular flakes.

"What is that?" a different fitter exclaimed.

"Looks like me lunch."

"Recycled, I hope. I pity you if that's what it looked like going down."

The group broke apart to allow Christophe to bring in another chair, then both engineers sat, Christophe holding a small bowl to collect what the other man was prying off of the cylinder wall. Luckily, the flattened mass came apart quite easily once lifted a bit, and a quick rub with universal solvent cleaned up the last remnants of it. The fitters and foreman passed the bowlful around, almost reverently, trying to identify the content's origin.

"Ugh, that's horrid. Mashed up leaves, I guess, but it's got these hard bits too…grit or cinders or summat."

"Or bone. Bone and fur."

"Heh. Maybe Lambchop noshed on a rat."

"Rat's revenge."

"I found a mouse nest in an engine once. A narrow gauge fella, kept in a shed near the woods. It was in the smokebox. Made a right mess when we first lit up."

"The lads at the dieselworks told me one of our diesels picked up a wasp's nest during a layup, waiting for parts. Right in the cab it was. You shoulda seen the driver bail when he first found out, they told me. Moved  
like lightning, he did."

The stories went round and round. Even Christophe had one to contribute and told about finding a swift's nest inside the funnel of an engine sitting idle on a siding back in Montreal. The only thing no one could explain was how the material they'd just scraped out—whatever it was—had found its way inside one of Lammergeier's cylinders in the first place.

"Were the drain cocks left…no, that wouldn't have mattered," Mister Baker mused. "We would have noticed  
something when we first had him opened up a couple of days ago, even if something did manage to crawl in."

"And anything coming in with the steam, it would've had to have been pulverized so finely that…I dunno. Doesn't make sense," said Christophe. "But at least we know where the off-beat came from. And like you said, an easy fix." The small man stood up, flexed his back, put a hand back on the loco. "Well, if Lammergeier were an airplane, we could blame the gremlins for this one. Given that he's an engine, I guess we'll have to chalk it up to the train table gods having their laughs again."

The foreman, still standing by with the bowl of unidentified foreign crud in hand, nodded in agreement.

"The train table gods must be crazy," he intoned solemnly.

"Well said," Mister Baker remarked, and that was the last he had to say about his latest repair job.

Denise, who'd been hovering and taking in all the comments, finally scampered forward again to place herself in front of her waiting locomotive and pat his buffer beam.

"There, see? Just like I said," she related happily. "You had some stuff stuck in one of your cylinders and it put the piston stroke off a tiny bit. But it's all cleared out now and you look as good as new."

Lammergeier still looked concerned. He had that same taut-mouthed uncertain look about him, his thin lips pressed tightly together, as he'd worn back in France, only minus the anger. "Are you absolutely sure that's all it was and that they got it all out?" he asked now, eyeing Denise with considerable doubt.

Denise began trying to reassure him. At the same time, Christophe edged forward himself and went still to listen in. Although he couldn't understand the words being used, given that the woman and the engine were speaking in German again, it was easy enough for him to comprehend what was going on from their inflections and expressions alone and he was surprised by the degree of Lammergeier's misgivings. Surely he'd been listening in while all the workmen and he himself had been chattering away…hadn't he? Aside from a few silly jokes, everything said had been positive. Finally, Denise must've been able to convince him that all was well, for they went silent and the engine's face lost its hard edge.

Christophe decided to speak to him. "You have trouble believing what humans say to you, don't you?" he asked quietly.

Lammergeier suppressed a terrible start. He'd never even noticed Christophe, although he was standing right there next to his right-hand leading wheels just within his field of vision. This was _exactly_ why he was leery of the man. He was far too good at sneaking silently around and Lammergeier didn't like the way he looked into him, instead of just at him the way normal humans did. Luckily for the engine, a distraction showed up at that moment before Christophe could press Lammergeier further for an answer.

"Oh ho. And here comes his nibs," the engineer said, still speaking softly and starting to grin.

It was indeed the Fat Controller, striding into the steamworks all on his own, dressed to the nines as usual. He greeted his two foreign workers cheerfully, then looked over the newest addition to his foreign fleet.

"Hello, Lambchop! Still chopping those lambs, are you?"

"Oh, _ja,_ Sir Topham Hatt, sir! I chop zem _und_ I rip zem."

"Ho ho! Good lad."

Denise felt her sanity plummet. He's named after a flipping vulture, a _vulture!_ she thought. The only ripping he does is to tear apart nasty rotten old carcasses. But of course it was too late to point that out to Sir Topham Hatt. He obviously approved of Lammergeier's new English name and even seemed to like the engine's pained attempt to carefully enunciate his name, so that it came out sounding like 'Top-ham _Hett_ '. Then he spotted the still-open cover on Lammergeier's right cylinder.

"Oh dear. What's going on here? I thought you meant to complete his tests this morning."

"We're halfway there, sir," Christophe said, stepping up to fill in the boss. "We just ran into a snag after his first run-up and stop, and it's something that's not uncommon in engines left idle outside for long periods…would you like to see?"

"Well, now you've got me curious. Of course I'll have a look."

The two of them joined the little work party who were just about to finish up with the cylinder. Mister Baker, the senior man present, was glad to see Sir Topham—they all were. Despite his jovial looks and sometimes clownish behaviour, everyone knew the Fat Controller was at heart a shrewd businessman and very hard-working, a kind man who cared deeply for the welfare of everyone who worked for him in turn. He was an easy boss to get along with and the chief engineer in particular was always happy to indulge Sir Topham's engineering proclivities.

"My goodness!" the Fat Controller exclaimed when he examined the small bowlful of debris that had been dug out and collected. "So this is all it took, was it?"

"Yes. It was stuck right here, all around the rim. Barely anything and of course the piston pounded it flat, but not quite flat enough. We started to lose the beat any time we went above two-thirds speed. No damage done yet, but it would have, in time, had we ignored it."

Sir Topham Hatt pulled thoughtfully at his chin. "Much better a quick small fix than a major one done later on…you'll get no objections from me when it comes to anything to do with that."

"Exactly right, sir. Incidents like this also make you appreciate how finely designed these locos really are," opined Christophe. "Large though some of them may be, they're all still precision machines. I once saw an American Challenger brought to a standstill by a piece of stray metal no bigger than your little finger. It was very sobering."

"Indeed. Hopefully Lambchop won't be picking up anything like that any time soon. _And_ he'll be sleeping indoors from now on, so no more debris either, I should think. When do you expect you'll have his tests completed?"

"Give us fifteen minutes," said the chief engineer, "and we'll be back on the rails to do exactly that."

"Ah, splendid!"

The little party became aware of a sudden verbal tussle going on towards the front of the engine. The locomotive and his driver appeared to be arguing, in German, although the human at least was trying to keep it quiet.

"Er, something I should know about?" Sir Topham Hatt inquired, as he went forward to see what the problem was.

Denise, who still had her hands planted on her engine's buffer beam, seemed to slump downward, resigned.

"Lammergeier wants me to ask you if you would like to ride in his cab for the remainder of his test, sir," she related without much enthusiasm. "He would like to ask you himself, but he can't…find the right words in English." Actually, the words he had found were unrepeatable, but she wasn't about to convey that. Sir Topham Hatt, oblivious to anything underhanded going on, perked up.

"Oh my, this is…tempting," he mused.

Both engineers, who'd overheard the invitation and saw how much Sir Topham brightened, chimed in at once.

"Great idea, sir! I should have thought of inviting you aboard myself," Mister Baker said.

"That's right, you should come, sir," Christophe added. "It's a lovely big cab, Lambchop's a very clean engine, and we've even got a big comfy folding chair if you don't want to stand. Besides, how often do you get a chance to speed-trial a locomotive, sir?"

"Is that what you were planning on?" Sir Topham Hatt asked his chief engineer. He sounded as excited as a little girl promised a pony ride. "To test his speed?"

"If he checks out a hundred percent beforehand, sure."

"I'm in," the Fat Controller decided, and hurried off to place a quick phone call. The two engineers bumped fists and the fitters smiled. Only Denise appeared bummed at the prospect of having the boss in the cab. She slunk back and climbed in and took her place at the engine's controls without saying a word, her face positively stormy.

She cheered up again, though, as soon as they finally got underway. Lammergeier executed another silky-smooth start and this time remained on his very best behaviour, even when they turned towards Kellsthorpe Road again, without any of the annoying pulling or messing about from earlier that morning. He ran up beautifully through the cutting, sounding as precise and controlled as a well-oiled sewing machine throughout, and eased back just as promptly when asked to slow down. It was enough to put smiles on everybody's faces, most especially those of the chief engineer and Sir Topham Hatt.

"That's it, then. I'm satisfied," he said. "Turn him at Kellsworth, Denise, and we'll have a go en route back."

"Yes, sir!"

Sir Topham Hatt, who'd been hanging onto the engine's right-hand cab door and alternating between looking out and watching his people go about their work, snapped his head about. "So it's on?"

"With your permission, absolutely, sir," Mister Baker said warmly.

"Oh, you have it. One hundred percent's worth!"

The next little while passed with almost agonizing slowness. They'd already gone past the markers which indicated the measured mile section of the tracks running through the cutting and it took some time to reach the Kellsworth area, loop about to change direction, and get back on the mainlines. But at last all was done and Lammergeier was allowed to start picking up speed again preparatory to his trial run. Sir Topham Hatt was so worked up that he paced back and forth from one side of the cab to the other, trying to stay out of the way, yet unable to simply stand and watch anymore. Mister Baker got his stopwatch ready and showed it to Sir Topham.

"Not long now, sir."

"Excellent. Perfect! Oh, this is a lovely smooth engine. How fast would you say he's going right now?"

"Probably close to fifty. And that was the max speed for the class built before him and which he's based on."

"He'll go faster than that! He's not even trying yet."

Another voice, pervasive and seeming to emanate from the bulk of the engine directly in front of them, suddenly filled the whole cab.

"Take ze control, Sir Topham Hatt, sir. Qvick. Before ve start."

It was Lammergeier's voice, and they all recognized it instantly, of course, yet still it caught them all by surprise. Locomotives rarely chose to speak to their crews when they were in motion. More usually, they just listened.

"What's that, Lambchop?" the Fat Controller exclaimed, as startled as any of them, yet already a little intrigued.

"Ze lever. Take it, sir. _Bitte._ I go fast for you."

Sir Topham Hatt reached for the throttle lever, looked towards Denise and then his chief engineer. "Could I?" he asked, almost pleadingly.

The woman hastened to step aside. "Gosh, I don't see why not," she said. "Mister Baker? Couldn't Sir Topham Hatt drive, just for a minute? All he needs to do is open the throttle fully."

The chief engineer was already nodding his approval. He was also a tad astonished. He had never in his entire long working life heard a locomotive ask for a specific person to drive them, yet Lammergeier had just done exactly that. His unprecedented request had certainly delighted Sir Topham Hatt, who took up his driver's relinquished position with instant enthusiasm. Although a decent driver in his day, the Fat Controller rarely got a chance to drive anymore; in fact, the last engine he'd driven had been one of his faithful old coffee pots, the newly restored Glynn. He couldn't help chuckling to himself as he noted all the differences between the two locos now, especially Glynn's simple open cab and bare basics versus the multitude of controls and fine-tune options offered up by Lammergeier's positively luxurious enclosed cab.

"So, as soon as we pass the marker, yes?" Sir Topham asked Denise, fingering the throttle with barely restrained anticipation. "I open him up then?"

"Actually, you'll already want to be going at full speed when you pass the marker, sir. I'll let you know when to turn him loose. He responds fast, too—you'll want to have your feet set and braced!"

"Oh, lovely! Oh, this will be fun!"

Sir Topham leaned sideways to look out the side window and at the track ahead. Christophe took the opportunity to fire in a last feed of coal, checked the water level. "Max pressure imminent," he announced. "He'll start venting in a minute, sir."

"Time to let him go, sir," Denise added. "Ease him over bit by bit until you can't push any further and we should hit the marker right after that."

"Got it!" Sir Topham cried, and in his excitement of course clapped the throttle wide open at once. Or at least he tried to. Denise's watchful eye was the only one to catch that the throttle control had suddenly become so stiff that it was barely movable at all and it was all because Lammergeier had taken charge again… _he_ was the one who was resisting the pressure Sir Topham Hatt was applying and ensuring that his final acceleration was properly smooth and gradual. Why, you sneak! Denise thought, and almost laughed aloud with reluctant admiration. The engine was overriding the Fat Controller's command so subtly that the man never even noticed that he wasn't in full control after all.

They roared past the mile marker and everyone heard the click as Mister Baker activated his stop watch. Now it was a mere matter of counting the seconds for the humans could do no more. It was up to Lammergeier to squeeze every last iota of energy out of the steam power his crew had made available to him and use his sleek machine body to translate it into speed, speed, and more speed. Sir Topham Hatt leaned out of the side window again, his hat prudently clutched in his free hand, exhilarated by the sheer sensations of experiencing a locomotive in full charge. He'd ridden in faster engines, but never before had he participated in legitimately racing one against the clock.

A mile a minute would have been good. The 48s had been built to exceed the performance specs of their 44 class forebears by about twenty percent—it was the one and only piece of background info the engineering staff on Sodor had ever been able to locate and verify about Adler and his kin when their first 48 had arrived. Adler had gone on to exceed expectations during his own tests. Could Lammergeier do the same?

The other marker came up even faster than anyone expected and Mister Baker stopped his watch and held it up while he consulted a chart. They could all see that the second hand hadn't gone all the way around, but what that would translate into…

Mister Baker finally looked up, smiling.

"110 klicks," he announced. "A touch over 68 miles an hour."

There was general jubilation in the cab. Lammergeier had just beaten Adler's own record by two miles per hour. The chief engineer continued smiling as he wrote down his findings.

"I think we can safely set aside that twenty percent expectation for the 48s," he said. "It's closer to thirty percent…more than thirty. I still hate to admit it, but those Berliners did a great job of tweaking a proven design. Too bad the class was unsustainable."

"Bad for the Germans. Good for us," said Christophe. "Wait'll we get this fellow cleaned up and painted to match Adi. They'll look great together."

"Yes," Sir Topham agreed. "I've already been thinking about sending the two of them over to the Mainland occasionally with a big goods train. That'd make for quite the impression, wouldn't it? Two hard-working North Western engines, who also happen to be historical rarities you can come and enjoy riding behind back on Sodor?"

"It sure would…"

Christophe's voice trailed off. The reason it did was because he'd suddenly and for the first time taken notice of the fact that the Fat Controller was still driving, and doing so very well indeed. He was even managing the brakes, using them judiciously to ease Lammergeier down off his headlong charge to a more reasonable pace, and all while chatting away to boot. Christophe's gaze flicked over the interior of the cab, his friend Denise, the chief engineer, who'd seated himself on the folding chair to continue writing more comfortably. Everyone else seemed unconcerned and everything looked normal.

"Er…Sir Topham Hatt? Would you…prefer we took over again?" Christophe offered.

"Oh, thank you, Mister Pelletier, but if you don't mind, I'd like to take this fine fellow back to the steamworks myself. I feel very much in tune with this one, and you know what I always say when it comes to crews and engines."

"A driver for every engine…" Denise suddenly spoke up.

Sir Topham Hatt chuckled. "…and an engine for every driver, quite right, Missus Doyon. And I do believe this is an engine for me…aren't you, Lambchop?"

"Oh, _ja,_ Sir Topham Hatt," the engine's disembodied voice echoed within the cab at once. "You drive me _gut,_ sir. Zank you so much."

"Heh heh, no, thank _you,_ Lambchop."

And this time Christophe saw it too, the man tugging far too hard on a brake lever that responded with a slow reluctance which had nothing to do with any mechanical limitations. He looked with some disbelief over at Denise, who looked right back at him, rolling her eyes. Then she shook her head, just the tiniest bit. It rocked Christophe back on his heels, literally. He'd never run into such a bizarre situation in his entire life and honestly didn't know how to proceed.

To top it off, their boss was having such a fine time that he abruptly asked if they couldn't take a quick detour past Crovan's Gate and on up to Henry's Forest so Sir Topham could check on a team of workers doing some forestry work there, just general grooming and brush clearing along the mainlines. Mister Baker, who was still absorbed in his paperwork and temporarily otherwise oblivious to what was going on, grunted his approval. "Splendid," Sir Topham murmured to himself, and off they went.

The team the Fat Controller wanted to check on included two engines, one of them the very locomotive for which the forest had been informally named, plus his friend Edward. Edward was handling the positioning of a railroad crane, which the men were using to load the cut brush and other organic waste into trucks being managed by Henry. This was already Henry's second job of the day. Earlier, he'd done his regular pre-dawn Kipper run with only half his usual crew on board and he still had only half of his usual crew—Mister Pierre Doyon, who usually functioned as his fireman, was driving him today. A man from the spares list, whom Henry knew and liked, had filled in for the missing half earlier on during his Flying Kipper job. For this forestry gig, however, he'd taken on a second crewman of a very different sort, a very young man named Roger, who was currently having one of the most thrilling experiences of his short life, the opportunity to work as a real fireman on an honest-to-gosh real steam locomotive on the job.

Roger was actually a beneficiary of the North Western Railway's apprentice programme, which Sir Topham Hatt had initiated after he first saw how many children even on the Island of Sodor were growing up fatherless in the aftermath of the War. Roger was one of the lucky ones. He still had a mum and two sisters to live with right in the heart of Knapford and could walk over to the station. Mister Pierre Doyon was one of his favourite people to work with and he passionately loved Henry, who was one of the kindest engines he'd ever known. It wasn't that long ago that Henry wouldn't have been considered a good candidate to be a training engine, given his nervous, high-strung disposition, but he'd settled considerably since the Doyons had taken over as his primary crew, and he'd become very fond of Roger in turn, even if the young lad sometimes poked him by mistake when he washed him or spilled coal all over the floor of his cab when he tried to feed his fire.

Today was typical. Mister Doyon had encouraged him to try keeping Henry's fire at a certain level all while they were travelling to their job site and he'd yet to master the trick of keeping his feet anchored while shoveling. A couple of times he'd gotten more coal on the floor than into Henry's firebox.

"Not so easy, is it?" Pierre had commented, smiling beneath his big black mustache.

"Gosh, no. I'm sorry, Mister Doyon. I'll clean it up."

"Wait until we get to de forest. We 'ave lots of time den."

Sure enough, he'd been able to finally get things neat and tidy again once Henry had stopped for a while and Pierre had even helped him. The work thereafter had been low-key, but steady, with Henry needing to occasionally reverse back to the siding where he'd exchange a truck full of brush for an empty one to take back up to where the men were cutting and loading. It gave Roger lots of practice coupling up trucks and uncoupling them again and lots of time to try and keep Henry's water levels up and his fire burning just so, so that there was always enough steam available for the engine to do his job, but not so much that it was constantly venting out and going to waste.

A number of other engines went by as they worked away the hours, which was always cause for a friendly exchange of whistles. But then came a strange whistle, one they'd never heard before, and a minute later an engine which was familiar yet not familiar chuffed into view. It was Lammergeier, of course, running down the center track, slowing as he came. A minute more and he was eased to a stop next to Henry, so that their crews could regard each other. Denise was the quickest to take advantage of their surprise visit, by going to her cab door and leaning out and making a show of positively leering at the driver over in Henry's cab.

"Hey there, handsome," she called to him. "Where's that gorgeous wife of yours?"

The black-haired man lowered his head and shook it sadly.

"Ahhh, she left me dis morning and run off wid anoder of dos dam' Germans."

"Wow. She sounds like a real hussy."

"You 'ave no idea."

By now even Sir Topham Hatt was chuckling; the Doyons' love of teasing one another was well known. He looked past Pierre at his apprentice peeking out from behind him and asked, "And you, young Master Roger, how are you doing?"

"Oh gosh! Mister Topham Hatt, sir! I mean, Sir Topham Hatt…oh dear!" The man under discussion smiled indulgently as the young man, a boy, really, stumbled through a whole lexicon's worth of honorifics. "I'm fine, sir!" he finally managed to squeak out.

Sir Topham looked at Pierre. "Is he?"

"'e's doing ver' well, sir. And learning dat feeding an engine is much 'arder when it move dan when it sit still."

"Ah yes, I remember those days. Coal everywhere… Well, you two carry on. You're obviously managing the job just fine."

"T'ank you, sir. And t'ank you for checking in wid us."

"Oh, my pleasure…"

The engines, meanwhile, had been having a little social session of their own. Henry, who found himself right next to the new loco when it stopped, was the first to try and make friendly overtures.

"Hi," he had said softly. "I'm Henry."

"Lambchop," the new engine replied without preamble, which caused Henry momentary confusion. The Doyons had told him the new engine's name and he remembered only that it was foreign and rather long and hard to pronounce. Perhaps he'd shortened his name, the same way Adler had become Adi.

"Oh. Er, okay. Glad to meet you, Lambchop."

Lammergeier uttered a huge sigh of exasperation. It seemed as though lax work habits were the norm on this railway, for both humans and engines. " _Ja. Gleichfalls._ Meetink you," he said shortly.

It started to dawn on poor Henry at that point that the new engine's English might not be the best. In fact, now that he thought about it, the whole reason that Miz Denise had taken time off to go to Europe with Mister Pelletier to look at the new engine at all had to do with whether they'd be able to communicate with him. The answer, apparently, was…not very well. Not in English, anyway.

"Maybe we should wait for Missus Doyon to join us before we talk much more," Henry said, as politely as he possibly could.

"Okay."

They'd lapsed into silence. Awk-ward, thought Henry, squirming inwardly. He could see Edward further on up the track, close enough to have overheard though not join their aborted conversation. Edward looked about equal parts bemused, sympathetic, and relieved to be out of it. As for Lammergeier, he was glancing enviously over at the high gloss on Henry's bright green livery. The men at the steamworks had been keeping him clean, but nothing more, given that they meant to soon paint him. Although Lammergeier understood their reasoning, he couldn't help feeling rather shabby at times even so and this was one of those times.

Lammergeier's and Henry's crews finished with their farewells and Lammergeier was sent slowly forward, right past the rail crane between the two working engines and then the blue engine managing the crane. The blue engine was smallish and old-fashioned looking, Lammergeier thought, and likely fairly old, but he too had a lustrous coat and looked beautifully maintained. He also knew better than to talk. The German engine paused briefly so more words could be exchanged between their respective crews, then off he went again, with Sir Topham Hatt still happily working his controls. Or at least he thought he was working Lammergeier's controls. In truth, the 48 was smoothening out a multitude of overcorrections and yanks and pulls for the human so that he appeared to be driving with seamless ease.

They were lucky insofar that there was a looping turnoff and points not much further down the line where Sir Topham was able to get his engine turned around and over onto the south-bound fast track en route back to the steamworks. Lammergeier soon steamed past Henry and Edward again, traveling at a much faster clip this time at the behest of his temporary driver, who appeared to have become quite enamoured with his new engine's speed. By now, even Mister Baker was starting to look puzzled. He knew that Lammergeier was not difficult to drive or fire, but he did require a certain finesse and appreciation for his overpowered responsiveness. And considering Sir Topham's reputation for manhandling his unfortunate railcar, Winston...well, his apparent sudden expertise was a bit of a head-scratcher. Mister Baker decided to chalk it up to a born railroader's instincts. The possibility that Lammergeier was largely driving himself didn't even occur to him.

Denise and Christophe, on the other hand, were under no such delusions. They'd already pantomimed their way through an entire conversation by surreptitiously mouthing words, some of them unprintable, and making faces at one another behind their cab-mates' backs. Their consensus had been to say nothing and to stay well out of it aside from tending to Lammergeier's fire and pressures. Outrageous though Lammergeier's behaviour was, neither of them believed for one second that anybody was in any real danger, least of all Lammergeier himself.

Plus which there was no denying that Sir Topham Hatt's turn in the driver's seat, as it were, had given him a thrill. The moment that they finally came to a stop back at the Sodor Steamworks, he began enthusing about what a splendid engine his new acquisition was. "And so easy to drive, too!" he concluded, giving Lammergeier an affectionate pat as he exited the cab. "Oh yes, he'll be a fine addition to the fleet. When do you think we can have him certified and painted?" he asked, addressing his chief engineer.

"Well, I can only issue provisional papers for now, given that he came with no records or logbook, but I can certainly get started on that this very afternoon. As for the paintjob, I'd still like to put him through a few practical jobs first, some heavy freight work, pulling coaches and the like, just on the off chance we uncover some weakness, although I'm not expecting to. So maybe…say, first thing Monday morning we start grinding him down for his undercoat? He'll be done by Tuesday? Wednesday for sure?"

Sir Topham Hatt beamed. "Perfect! Be sure to have him painted identically to Adi, if you can. Aside from his nameplate and number, of course."

"We'll do that, sir…"

The two wandered off towards the steamworks' offices, still chatting. Christophe trailed behind them for a moment, stopped and stood indecisive while glancing back at Lammergeier, then carried on following his two superiors. Denise by contrast had no difficulty deciding what to do. She marched straight up in front of her locomotive, caught his eye, and did her best to glare at him.

"Well, I hope you're proud of yourself!" she exclaimed in German.

Lammergeier looked completely unperturbed by her words. "What? I made the boss happy. Now he thinks favourably of us. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is that you deceived him! And inviting him aboard at all, that wasn't your decision to make either. That should have come from Mister Baker!"

"Oh, you were all too slow," Lammergeier said dismissively. "He would have walked off before any of you said a word."

"So your solution was to make a scene, was it? To get him to come forward to see what was wrong?"

"Well, it worked." The engine's eyes narrowed and he smirked. Then he winked at her. "Didn't it."

Unfortunately, Denise never got a chance to formulate a response or to give him the tongue-lashing she thought he so richly deserved for a flock of fitters came up at that point and all of them were full of congratulations for Lammergeier's feat.

"Lambchop! We just heard! Good show!"

"110 klicks! That's a new record for you 48s, innit?"

"Is it true Sir Topham was driving? That's wild, man!"

Lammergeier looked down at the men crowded about his buffers and leading wheels. "You fix me _gut_ so I go _gut,_ " he said warmly to them all.

This elicited a happy murmur of response as the fitters expressed their general appreciation for his acknowledgment. As for Denise, she gave up and left. There was no way she could chew out Lammergeier anymore with a bunch of his groupies swarming around and she had a sneaking suspicion that it would be pointless anyway—he really could be hopelessly recalcitrant. Maybe Christophe was right. It was time to stop babying him. Besides, it wouldn't be much longer before he moved down to Knapford and once there, she was sure that his brother, Adler, could straighten him out.

In the meantime, no matter what she thought of him personally, Denise was happy enough to continue on as his driver and Christophe was likewise fine filling in as his fireman. The two of them wanted Lammergeier to have the best chance possible to prove himself during his trial period, and acting as his crew—virtually the only crew around besides Adler's with some prior experience with 48s—seemed only fair. During the next several days, the big engine was put to work at a variety of jobs and given the opportunity to show what he could do. Mister Baker used Adler's past performance as a guide to choosing the tasks and counted on Denise and Christophe to report in on the engine's performance daily.

As it turned out, Lammergeier could do quite a lot. His first job was to pull one of the local passenger trains for two days and his work was impeccable throughout. He never bumped the coaches together, he slowed to his stops and started off from the platforms just right, and he ran so fast between stations that he always arrived early. Denise and Christophe weren't terribly surprised by how well he did, though. As Christophe jokingly put it during one of their breaks, while standing well away from the engine and out of earshot, "Guess if he'd ever dared jostle the likes of ol' Goering, he would've been turned into tin cans long ago." And Denise, grinning back, had said, " _Hermann_ Goering? Oh please. He'd see to it that Lammergeier was turned into aircraft undercarriage. And they'd put it on some training plane they used for the crappiest, worst pilot recruits of all, so he'd get bounced and pranged up every day."

Lammergeier's goods work was even more impressive. When asked to tow a huge load of stone up and over Gordon's Hill, he'd simply put down his figurative head and pulled like a fiend throughout, using his superior traction to help manage the trucks and keep them steady on the inclines. Hard work seemed to appeal to him. He liked being absorbed by the physical demands of moving a long, heavy train and would become almost docile to handle at such times, going silent in order to better concentrate on the difficult work and never complaining. Christophe saw it as a mark of intelligent professionalism, that Lammergeier had a self-imposed work mode. Denise simply considered it evidence that he possessed the same excellent work ethic as did his brother.

Mister Baker was pleased with what he heard and more importantly, pleased with the lack of any further mechanical issues, and he okayed Lammergeier's paintjob to start on schedule. Adler came by partway through so the painters could use him as a brief model to exactly match their trims and the script style for Lammergeier's nameplate and number, and the two 48s spent several happy hours together, chatting and laughing, while the men worked on the engine's beautiful new livery, bright red above and black below, with a bold white horizontal stripe ending in a stylized raptor's profile separating the two base colours. It was a paint scheme which had come to be informally known as two-tone foreign and Lammergeier was the fifth engine on the Island to be so adorned. The last things to be added were the golden bands decorating his red body and his black chain railing, installed all along the edge of his upper running board as both a safety feature and to serve as an anchor for decorative bunting. When the men who'd worked on Lammergeier finally backed up to take in the full effect of their efforts, he looked so good and they were so pleased that they burst into spontaneous applause.

The next day, following his very last night spent at the Sodor Steamworks, Denise and Christophe came to fire him up and take him to the big new roundhouse down in Knapford.

Lammergeier was a North Western loco now.

to be continued...


	4. Home Sweet Home

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Four - Home Sweet Home

It didn't take long for Lammergeier to decide that he didn't like living at the Knapford roundhouse, and it had nothing to do with the stabling itself or his shed-mates.

He actually, for the most part, liked the other engines who lived with him. The new roundhouse had eight extra large berths and six of them were currently occupied. At one end were the three Canadian engines. Justin, Francois and Guy. All were large, impressive-looking locomotives who'd been shipped over together several years ago, complete with their own engineer, Christophe Pelletier, who'd just retired back in Canada and who'd initially meant to only stay long enough to get the local engineers up to speed as to their new foreign engines' maintenance and operation. Somehow his temporary stay had stretched into months and the prospect of retirement began to suck and Christophe had come to accept that he was just not done fooling around with his beloved steam locomotives. Lammergeier gathered that there was some special history between the man and Guy, the big Northern loco, and that the other two had once been crewed by the Doyons, so the arrival of the Canadian contingent had been something of a family reunion, as it were.

Lammergeier had been given the other end berth on the western side of the building so he could have a bit of privacy while getting used to his new routine, and next to him, of course, was his own dear brother, Adler. And next to Adler was a true curiosity, an enormous tank engine named Hurricane, who also had ten driving wheels. He was the only one of his kind ever made and had been rebuilt in the past into an articulated mode, in order to better work within confined areas. Unfortunately for him and despite his rarity, his former owners had decided to chuck all their steam locos in favour of more diesels and he'd been lucky to have come to the attention of Sir Topham Hatt, who'd been quick to snap him up. The other steam engines who'd been working with him were also put up for sale at the same time and they were unusual enough that they'd been bought by a friend of Sir Topham's, the owner of the Island's railway museum, Sir Robert Norramby. Those engines, Lammergeier hadn't met yet. As for Hurricane, Lammergeier thought him a rather common sort, although the others, even Adler, seemed to really like him, and for that reason, the new 48 was keeping his opinion to himself for now.

The remaining two berths were reserved for visitors or occasional residents. One of those occasional residents was stabled in the Knapford sheds right now, the big green engine Lammergeier had met in the forest—Henry. Henry usually lived in the Tidmouth roundhouse, but had been moved over to Knapford for pure convenience's sake because his crew, Denise and Pierre, were drawing double duty again and looking after both him and Lammergeier. Henry was not only fine with the move, but quite delighted. He'd gotten to know the Canadians and Adler very well in the past and was glad to be able to spend some time with all of them again. And while Lammergeier never said much to him, the other new guy in the shed, Hurricane, was funny and cheerful and eager to befriend the only other 'local' engine, as he baldly put it, so Henry turned out to be well served when it came to company.

Lammergeier was much less thrilled with the whole setup than was Henry. He'd expected that Denise and Christophe would continue on as his crew and had been rudely shocked to find himself relegated to second stringer status and having to share Henry's crew instead. Denise he was still fine with as his driver—and he still rather liked her—but her husband serving as his new fireman he wasn't sure of at all. He looked friendly enough and smiled a lot, yet had the same unnerving ability to look right into him as had Christophe. On the other hand, he did build beautiful fires and had a real knack for putting a spectacular shine on an engine's paintwork. Lammergeier reluctantly decided to keep his complaints about the crew situation stashed securely alongside his hidden opinions about some of the other engines. He didn't even know whom he could complain to anyway. Adler had begun to give him impatient looks anytime he tried to criticize his current living conditions.

No, what irritated Lammergeier most and made him regret having to live at Knapford more and more as the days went on was simply the sheer numbers of _humans_ who seemed determined to hang about the roundhouse at any given time. Part of it was that a lot of the people who crewed the engines happened to live right in the town of Knapford itself—the Doyons and Christophe included—and because they could walk to and from work, they tended to dawdle when their workdays were done or sometimes just dropped by to visit during their off hours. Even Sir Topham Hatt was guilty of this. His main office was in Knapford Station and he apparently thought nothing of wandering over if he wanted a break at lunchtime or wanted to show off his fine new modern roundhouse or his 'foreign fleet' to visitors. The only visit by Sir Topham which Lammergeier ever truly appreciated was the very first one, when he came by to see how his new 48 was settling in. It made for the perfect excuse for Lammergeier to gloat some more about his speed record, but it also precipitated the first really serious argument between the two German engines.

What happened was that while Adler was already well aware that Lammergeier had established a new max speed for their class (no thanks to being told about it umpteen times by the establisher himself), what he hadn't known was that Sir Topham was Lammergeier's driver during the trial itself. In fact, it struck him as so unlikely that Adler didn't dare ask for further clarification when he started to clue in while the boss was still there, conversing with them, for fear of inadvertently offending the human. As soon as the Fat Controller had left, though…

"Did I hear right?" he'd asked. "Sir Topham Hatt _drove_ you?"

"That's right," Lammergeier replied, rather smugly. "I told him to take my throttle just before I started my run and he did, and he drove me back to the steamworks afterwards too."

Adler blinked, and blinked again. "You never mentioned this. But surely he's not…very practised."

"No, but so what? I mainly drove myself and let him think he was doing it all."

Lammergeier's casual admission shocked the other engine.

"You shouldn't have done that," he warned in a low, worried voice. "It's not right. You could have gotten yourself into a lot of trouble."

"What's not right is being yanked around by some heavy-handed lout!" Lammergeier fired back irritably. "I won't stand for it anymore. I don't care who it is!"

"But Sir Topham Hatt is—"

"I said I don't care! And stop trying to defend him. He's a lousy driver! I won't tolerate poor driving any longer, I won't! I've had it with humans pulling at me and jerking me around and not knowing what they're doing. If some stupid person wants to climb aboard and try working my controls, fine, I can't stop them. But I can at least protect myself by overriding their commands if they're bad ones!"

Adler regarded his brother with silent grave concern while he ranted on. It was the first time he'd had any inkling that Lammergeier was, in his own way, as damaged as he himself had been when he first arrived on Sodor—it was just that Lammergeier's damage had gone a different way. He'd never seen his brother blow up like this, never. He'd always been the liveliest and sometimes rather sarcastic one of the three 48s, but Adler couldn't recall him ever expressing such downright vicious sentiments towards humans and the thought of him deliberately deceiving one of them seemed inconceivable. Lammergeier had always been obedient to a fault when they were working together back in Berlin; it was built into them to be so and to want to please their human masters. But somehow during the intervening years, Lammergeier's desire to please had taken a terrible turn.

"I don't know what to say to you," Adler admitted once his brother had finally wound down and run out of words. "Obviously you have your reasons for feeling the way you do and I wish you'd tell me what they are. You _do_ know you can talk to me and tell me anything…don't you?"

"Sure," Lammergeier replied, sounding rather tired in the wake of his tirade, "but there's nothing to really tell. I've just gotten fed up with tolerating bad driving. And it's not like they're all bad. I do like that woman driver. She does a good job."

"Yes. Denise and Pierre used to crew me too, when I first arrived. She has good hands. So does Pierre—he filled in for her sometimes on long jobs. He's surprisingly gentle with the controls."

"He hasn't tried driving me yet…" Lammergeier remarked. Then a stray thought occurred to him. "Say, what happened between you and Denise back when you first started working here? When they took me out on the lines for the first time when I was still up at the steamworks, that chief engineer made some comment about you needing to be yelled at to get you moving at all."

"Oh. That." Adler looked embarrassed. "It was just a misunderstanding."

Lammergeier grinned, back to his old self. "No it wasn't," he said. "Spill it, oh brother of mine."

"All right. Why not? This was back when I was about to go out on my own first test run. Mister Baker and Mister Pelletier were both aboard to monitor me, given that I was a new class of engine for both of them, and Mister Pelletier had gotten up a good fire, but we had to wait on the actual crew because they'd been delayed for some reason. When they did arrive, they came in from the office side of the steamworks and I couldn't really see them, I could just hear them."

Adler paused, still a little embarrassed, but amused too now that time had softened the memories.

"You have to remember," he went on, "I was a little…emotional back then. I'd just come out of a bad situation and didn't have very good control of my temper in particular. When the Doyons first climbed aboard—for of course it was them, I found out later—I thought it was a driver who'd dragged along his girlfriend to try and impress her by showing her the big new German engine and that made me very angry. Just the thought of him taking it all so lightly and messing up my one chance to make the best first impression possible… They tried to roll me out, but I refused and slammed on my brakes and started insisting—still trying to keep it a little polite but I was mad—please! get that woman out of my cab! she shouldn't be here! please take her out! Well! You can guess what happened next. 'That woman' suddenly _screamed_ at me and it was in German and I was so startled by that that I jumped ahead."

Lammergeier laughed, already delighted by the image. "What did she yell at you?" he asked.

"I can't repeat it. The command to "go!" was about the only word I'm comfortable relating. Needless to say, I obeyed."

His brother laughed even harder. "I suppose you forgot about your brakes and slipped your own wheels, too."

"I did," Adler admitted. "Showers of sparks thrown up by every one of my driving wheels. It was so mortifying. The only good that came out of it was that the people in the cab found it funny and were more entertained than angry with me. Mister Baker called it a…cultural misunderstanding, I think it was."

"Some misunderstanding. I suppose you apologized to Denise afterwards."

"First chance I got. And multiple times later."

"I knew you would. You're such a sanctimonious prig sometimes."

"Why, thank you," Adler replied, and then both of them were chuckling together, back to being friends again, their brief tiff overcome.

Lammergeier still hadn't offered up any further background for his angry outburst about inconsiderate humans and Adler didn't ask him about it. He knew that his brother was one of those engines who hated to be pried at and that he'd only become silent and sullen or sarcastic and confrontational if provoked. Still, Adler had gleaned quite a lot from the incident. It helped explain, in retrospect, his puzzling hostility towards visitors in the yard. His first encounter with the apprentices, for example, who more typically hung out at the Tidmouth sheds… They'd come over with their instructor just a day or two after Lammergeier had first arrived in Knapford, on a morning when the two 48s were the only engines left in the roundhouse. The instructor, Mister Ray, had made them gather in front of Lammergeier's buffers and had even made a point of introducing them, but that part of it hadn't gone very well.

"So, this here's Lambchop," Mister Ray had said, "the new guy you might have read about in the paper. Guess I don't need to tell ya that he's related to Adi."

The young apprentices had all politely said their hellos to the engine, a couple of them tittering a bit over his name. But Lammergeier, all he did was stare back at them as though he'd suddenly been beset by a swarm of disgusting insects, his mouth stubbornly clamped shut. Mister Ray, who was just as wise as he was old, clued in at once.

"Okay!" he'd exclaimed. "Looks like the English ain't there yet." He moved over to stand in front of Adler's buffer beam instead.

"Hey, Adi, how ya doin'? I'd like to give the kids a lesson on comparing the two of ya. Just the externals, don't even need to go in yer cabs. You good with that?"

"Of course, Mister Ray." Adler replied. "Vhatever you need. Neither of us hef jobs today."

"Outstanding. Tell yer brother there what we're planning. Okay, kidlets! Come on back here!"

The lot of them moved deeper into the sheds, between the two engines. Adler took the opportunity to glare over at Lammergeier and scold him, in German of course.

"What is wrong with you? You made yourself look like an idiot just now! Not to mention that it was very rude."

"Why are those people here?" Lammergeier growled. "Aren't there any regulations about unauthorized personnel in the roundhouse?"

"They _are_ authorized, you nitwit! They're trainees, from the apprentice programme. Their instructor, Mister Ray, is a very experienced driver and a very nice man."

Lammergeier just grumbled to himself while Adler continued to glower at him. Both engines could hear the man laying out his lesson plan.

"…same class, but that don't mean they're identical. Now these two, they're not even close. They got one big difference between 'em and it's somethin' you can see from outside and it ain't in the cab—that's the only hint I'm giving ya. Don't bother gettin' in their cabs and buggin' em 'cause the difference ain't there, got it? The rest of 'em, outside only, go for it."

One of the apprentices, who was evidently the wag of the class, shot up his hand.

"Oh! Oh! Mister Ray? Is it that their nameplates are different?" he asked in an impossibly perky voice.

The other trainees laughed. Mister Ray snarled something, but lovingly so. The only person who remained positively and absolutely unamused was Lammergeier, who ground his faux teeth together in his frustrated exasperation.

" _Daemlicher Bengel,_ " he muttered, a judgement which both acknowledged the last speaker's youth and questioned his intellectual capacity. Adler frowned at him. Again.

"He's joking," he admonished. "You know what a joke is, right? Or did your sense of humour get shot off during the War?"

But Lammergeier refused to let himself be jollied out of his sour mood, which curdled into outright anger once the apprentices retrieved some short wooden ladders and used them to climb up onto both engines' running boards. Only the presence of their instructor, who'd moved to stand by Adler's front buffers again, kept him from snapping at the youngsters and telling them to get off him. Adler, by contrast, watched his visitors with keen interest. He already knew what the difference was that Mister Ray wanted them to notice, and they were certainly having a good go clambering about comparing smoke boxes, domes, the plating over their boilers, and everything else in the meanwhile—one boy was even counting rivets.

Eventually, the lot of them climbed down again and began examining the engines' undercarriages and the exteriors of their cabs and tenders. Adler looked back over at his brother. He still appeared irritated beyond belief.

"What is up with you?" Adler demanded. "I don't understand your problem."

"Why do they have to be here?" Lammergeier complained. "We're not training engines! Why can't they go look at some…some tank engine or something?"

"Did you genuinely not understand what Mister Ray said? He's teaching them a lesson on comparing engines of the same class, that is to say…us."

"Well, it's annoying. This is supposed to be our time to rest and relax, not be bothered by a bunch of brats."

"Those 'brats' will be our crews someday," Adler pointed out. "Or do you think drivers and firemen materialize out of the ether, already adult and fully-trained? Show a little patience! Plus which, they're a huge help in getting us ready for excursions and display. You'll be glad to see those apprentices coming when it's time to be spit and polished for the enthusiasts."

This finally caught Lammergeier's attention in a way which began to crumble his indignation.

"They do that? I didn't know." He paused to reconsider. "Well, I suppose they do have their uses then."

"Of course they do. Now hush up and let's listen in while Mister Ray quizzes them. I'm thinking that that short little blond fellow—Joe's his name, I believe—might have figured it out."

Adler had it exactly right. One by one the apprentices admitted that they hadn't noticed any differences at all or offered up something that turned out to be wrong. It wasn't until Mister Ray got to Joe that he got back the answer he wanted.

"Their tenders are different," little Joe said with confidence. "Right where they attach. The couplings on the engines are the same, but the ones on the tenders aren't, and I think the tender on Adi was cut back a little too. The fronts on them look different just above the couplings."

"Correct! And very well stated. The rest of ya have a good look at what young Master Joe was talking about, especially that slope on the bottom fronts of those tenders. It's subtle, but it's there, and it's exactly the kind of thing you've gotta learn to see…"

"There. See? Not so dumb after all," Adler remarked. "That one will become a good driver. Mark my words."

"Ugh, fine," Lammergeier conceded, "and you can have him. He's not learning to drive on me!"

Mister Ray soon brought his trainees out front again, still talking about the individuality of locomotives and the need to recognize and appreciate the smallest differences between them.

"Sometimes it ain't even something physical. Their temperaments can differ too, sometimes a lot, and that can affect the way you need to handle 'em," he said. "Take these two here. Adi's about as nice and cooperative as it gets and he speaks excellent English. His own brother, Lambchop…same class, at least ninety-nine percent identical body-wise, yet he's sullen and unfriendly and his English ain't worth crap. That's how it goes. Okay, that's it for now! Go on over to the station and grab some snacks and we'll carry on in a half hour or so."

And he walked off, his trainees rushing on ahead of him, eager for some sweets and sodas. As soon as he'd passed beyond earshot, Adler burst out laughing. The look on his brother's face was priceless and he was still so stunned by what the man had said about him that it was a good half minute yet before he could talk.

"That-that… Who does he think he is?" he finally sputtered. "How dare he speak like that! He has no right."

"Oh, shut up," Adler said. "You have only yourself to blame for this one. You should have been at least civil to them and you weren't. 'Sullen and unfriendly' describes it perfectly."

It took the remainder of the morning for Lammergeier to get over his wounded dignity, and, again in retrospect, Adler now realized that he'd never really gotten over it. His brother continued to regard almost every visitor and especially strangers in the sheds with suspicion and resentment. The only exceptions were Sir Topham Hatt or anyone else he perceived as being in a position of power and authority, for whom he would become servile and respectful to an almost fawning degree. But it was a false servility, Adler soon saw with sadness, put on for no other reason than to further Lammergeier's self-interests and his obsessive need to protect himself. He didn't really like the VIPs any more than he liked any other visitor to the roundhouse, which was to say, not at all.

The regular drivers and firemen who crewed his shed-mates, Lammergeier tolerated. The only humans he ever seemed to express any genuine feelings for were the Doyons; his face would always brighten whenever he saw them bringing Henry back to the sheds late in the mornings or just after the noon hour because he knew that meant he would soon get to go out on the rails himself for a run. Denise and Pierre continued to do well by him, too. They got a job for him every day, usually something involving moving heavy freight, which he seemed to like doing best. Adler was glad that his brother was in the Doyons' care, even if just temporarily, and hoped he would warm to them well enough in time to want to confide in them about his troubles. Goodness knew that Denise in particular had helped Adler with his own issues in the past.

The big 48 began to wonder how Lammergeier would manage the day he was finally sent up to Ulfstead to be a display engine.

to be continued...


	5. Weekend At Ulfstead

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Five - Weekend At Ulfstead

Lammergeier had arrived on Sodor towards the end of the summer and hadn't officially been put to work until that transitional time of the year when children and students of all ages were returning to school. It made for a natural lull in the tourist trade and it wasn't until the new routines of life were re-established before it picked up again. Visitors who showed up towards the fall, especially on the cruise ships catering to them, tended to be affluent older folk, who were done with their responsibilities and obligations cleaning up after the War and who were simply grateful to still be alive and well enough to travel. They often had specific interests in mind and one of them was to re-experience happy memories of travelling the rails via steam locomotive through pretty countryside untouched by the ravages of battle. Sodor Island, of course, was tailor-made for such interests. And its ever increasing population of rare and exotic engines was earning it quite the reputation amongst railfans everywhere.

Thus it was that the first early fall port visit by a number of cruise ships turned out to be a big one, with every excursion train being pulled by engines from Sir Topham Hatt's foreign fleet booked solid. The ships were coming in on a weekend, too, which promised plenty of additional Mainland traffic and cause to put on a full display of static locos as well. For the first time, Lammergeier would be asked to show himself off to the crowds along with Hurricane and Guy, and he was incredibly excited about it. He was most enthused by the thought of finally seeing Stephenson's Rocket, or Stephen as he was locally known, the engine who was the father of them all, in some ways, and who was revered by nearly all living locos. The most amazing part of it, Lammergeier thought, was that not only was Stephen said to be in great shape and have all his wits still about him, but that he was still active enough to run his own little tours about the grounds of Ulfstead and beyond. It gave an engine great hope to realize that one could be well over a century old and yet still have what it took to be able to work and make oneself useful.

All the engines selected for static display and which were needed to pull excursion trains were always given the afternoon off the day before so they could be properly primped and polished. In the Knapford shed, only Henry, Hurricane and Francois had jobs that Friday morning before the big weekend, and the latter two came in early, before lunch. That left Lammergeier anxiously waiting for the lone holdout…Henry's arrival. Henry normally didn't take part in any tourist activities and the 48 expected that his crew would put Henry away quickly and then come tend to him and start getting him prettied up.

At last, just when Lammergeier's nerves seemed about to snap, the big green Black Five lookalike showed up. Henry was still dripping water; evidently he'd just been washed at the washdown just up the rails a bit and had likely been fully fueled and watered as well for the following day's work. It was a good habit for a crew to have, Lammergeier knew and one he appreciated when it benefited himself, but surely the Doyons could have put it off just this once! He was tired of waiting and wanted to get started on his preparations, even though there wasn't a single other human around at the moment doing anything of the sort…the rest of them were no doubt still too busy off stuffing themselves full of their own version of fuel and water, he thought, rather nastily. Henry got onto the turntable, spun about, and backed slowly into his berth next to Adler, halting while still partway out. It was a lovely day, unseasonably warm, and his crew knew that Henry enjoyed being out in the sunshine when it was nice. Adler and Hurricane greeted him kindly. The best Lammergeier could muster up was an irritable look.

Denise and Pierre hopped down out of Henry's cab and Denise walked by the two German engines on her way to get a couple of wash buckets, a hopeful sign. But instead of starting with Lammergeier, she went back to Henry, climbed up, and began cleaning his face. Pierre also got up with his own bucketful of stuff and started polishing Henry's paintwork, using heavy gloves to handle the still-hot metal surfaces. Lammergeier watched with disbelief. They were attending to Henry using the same lengthy end-of-the-day routine they always used. It didn't seem to matter one bit to them that he—Lammergeier—had a very special day coming up and that he needed to look his absolute best.

Lammergeier began to fret in his impatience. _Why_ was his crew spending so much time on Henry? It wasn't as if he were going on display himself the next day! Who cared if he was polished up or if his white running board was free of footprints? Who would even see that the next morning when he did his Kipper run anyway…the fish? And Denise…she was just the worst sometimes the way she dawdled around and wasted time when she did Henry's face, rubbing and drying it with a towel after she'd washed him, then going over it all over again with a piece of chamois, and _then_ she'd just stand there for a while, murmuring to him and rubbing his forehead some more. The waiting finally became annoying enough that he complained to Adler about it, keeping his voice down low enough that the woman probably wouldn't overhear him, but then again, so what if she did?

"Why do they have to fuss over that engine so much?" he muttered. "They're always fussing over him! It's so unseemly."

Adler rolled his eyes. For such an intelligent loco, his brother could say the stupidest things sometimes.

"They do it because Henry likes it," he replied. He looked over at Lammergeier. The other 48's expression was utterly blank. Sighing, and on the off chance that he really was that clueless, Adler added, "Henry's sensitive and a little nervous. Pierre and Denise like to give him lots of extra attention because it helps him feel secure and loved."

" _Loved!_ "

He spat the word out like a curse. Even worse, he looked on the verge of blowing up again. Bewildered and alarmed, Adler averted his eyes. He could not think of a single thing he'd just said which could provoke such a violent reaction and the last thing he wanted was for any of the other engines to see them fighting; Justin and Francois had already become noticeably cooler towards Lammergeier as of late and it all had to do with his brother's blasted unfriendliness towards humans. Now, here he was seemingly angry with Henry, of all engines, and the relationship he had with his crew. It was just unfathomable.

Adler hoped that by refusing to engage with him further that Lammergeier would get over his latest imagined outrage without making himself look like a total fool and it seemed to work. The next time Adler dared glance at him, his brother no longer appeared furious, only sullen. Sullen, in this case, was good. Lammergeier didn't talk much when he was feeling sullen. And the others in the shed, mercifully, hadn't noticed his sudden flare-up.

And yet, when the Doyons finished up with Henry mere minutes later and came over to him, Lammergeier was all smiles again. "Finally!" he said, but it was a cheerful, normal sort of exclamation, the kind any locomotive waiting their turn for attention might make. Adler fumed, more than a little fed up. No matter how much he loved his sibling and tried to be patient with him, Lammergeier's explosive moodiness was starting to get old.

Philip suddenly showed up. Philip was a little diesel boxcab who'd become one of the foreign fleet's most avid cheerleaders and who was always happy to come over and help out when the engines were prepping for their show days or excursions and needed some shunting done. He was a great fan of Justin in particular, even though the Canadian loco had given Philip a terrible, though unintended fright during their first meeting, and had sometimes slept in the new roundhouse with all the Canadians back when they'd first taken up residence.

"Hellooo!" he cried cheerfully at the waiting engines as a whole, stopping just short of the turntable. "Here I am! Anyone ready to go yet?"

"Lammergeier's ready," Denise called back. "He's going up to Ulfstead tomorrow for the first time."

"All right!"

Philip, already more excited for Lammergeier's sake than the 48 himself seemed to be, got himself properly aligned to scoot forward and couple up, then maneuvered the big new German engine over into the washdown area attached to the western side of the roundhouse. This was just one of the nice perks the new building was equipped with. There was always hot and cold water available to keep the engines sparkling clean now, even in the midst of winter, and all the cleaning supplies one could possibly want. Philip's driver, who was just as enthusiastic and hyper as his engine, hopped out as soon as they'd gotten Lammergeier into position and grabbed up one of the long-handled exterior wash brushes to help out. He chattered to the Doyons almost nonstop as they all worked together, backed up from time to time by encouraging comments hurled over by Philip himself.

More crews started showing up to get their engines ready. Then Mister Ray drove up, his van packed full of eager trainees. The washdown area soon became something of a conveyer belt with locos coming and going as quickly as the little boxcab could shunt them. The initial soaping and rinse was just the start of it for most of them. Once their gleaming exteriors had dried, they needed to be rubbed down to a high gloss, their faces carefully cleaned until their alloy surfaces almost glowed, their whistles, lamps, nameplates and any decorative metallic banding polished until they sparkled in the sunshine. After that the running boards would need to be mopped clean all over again and their edges and all the buffers, wheels and rods and the cabs and tenders or bunkers would receive their share of attention. The work was hard, but with so many people pitching in all at once and with so much good-natured joshing going back and forth from all involved, humans and engines alike, it went fast, and the mood in the yard soon became quite festive.

Right around tea time, Sir Topham Hatt showed up with a couple of assistants carrying boxfuls of pastries and small sandwiches plus a cartonful of bottled sodas especially for the trainees. Everyone took a break to make use of the roundhouse's other welcome perk, a spacious working service area and lounge attached to its other end with a nice outdoor patio in front of it which the crews as a whole had added on their own. A small kitchen indoors provided plenty of hot water for tea and cocoa and even the coffee the foreign oddballs liked to drink, and everyone was soon set enjoying a beverage and a couple of goodies from the offerings the Fat Controller had so kindly brought over at his own expense.

Sir Topham's tea time visits, which had become something of a habit for him before any big weekend outings for his foreign fleet, were not entirely altruistic, of course. The excursion trains and other tourist ventures had become important money makers for the railway. Dropping in allowed him the opportunity to check his peoples' work firsthand, look over his engines and their condition, and judge the mood and fitness of the employees who crewed them. He also liked seeing how the young apprentices were coming along and enjoyed spoiling them a bit. Sir Topham was never officious about his evaluations and tried to disguise his intent with plenty of friendly socializing, but did carry them out nonetheless. So far, he hadn't been disappointed once.

When he looked at his lineup of engines this time, Sir Topham Hatt made a point of wishing Lammergeier well.

"So! Off to visit Ulfstead for the first time, Lambchop. Looking forward to it?"

"Oh, _ja_ , Sir Topham Hatt, sir! I am _gut mit_ castles."

"Heh heh, I suppose you are, coming from Europe. You'll be seeing some really splendid new engines up there too, new to you, I mean."

" _Ja_ , ze Rocket!"

"That's right. Sir Robert's pride and joy." He turned slightly to address his other 48. "And you, Adi, just about ready to put on your colours, are you? You'll keep an eye on your brother this weekend to make sure he does well, I hope."

"Of course, sir. I vill vatch him like a hawk."

"Ah, a hawk, yes, heh. An eagle watching like a hawk, good one. Well, I'll leave you be. Both of you look very good, as usual. "

The two German engines thanked their owner. Adler shot his sibling a look as soon as Sir Topham moved on. He'd found it impossible to tell whether Lammergeier's enthusiasm had just been sincere or falsified to ingratiate himself and that in itself was incredibly disheartening to Adler.

The sun began its slow dive towards the horizon and the late afternoon light turned golden. Mister Ray sent his trainees off to get Adler's decorations from a storeroom, always the last task completed before the engines' preparations were deemed done for the day. Long streamers reflective of the Island's colours were first attached to his railings, with a big rosette on each post. Next, the blank studs were pulled from the platform-like extension of his running board over the two leading axels and sturdy short posts were screwed in, then an artfully constructed metal sign proclaiming WELCOME TO SODOR was affixed in the same place where Adler had once carried the Olympic rings. Lastly came the two voluminous flags, secured in their slightly angled holders and placed to stream past the engine's face on either side. It was the first time Lammergeier had seen his brother 'done up' to take his excursion train and he watched the entire process with keen envy throughout. He wished he could take Adler's train too, but apparently the coaches and brake coach involved were owned by someone who lived over on the Mainland and they insisted on meeting and approving any engine allowed to pull them, which sounded crazy to him, but that was how it was.

Their prep-time was done. Philip surged into action once more and carefully shunted the steam engines fully back into their berths, one by one, where they'd be safe from any surprise inclement weather and encouraged to get a good night's sleep. Any humans still left began to do the same…drift off to rest. Soon, even Philip was gone, and with him went the last of the daylight. The gleaming engines left behind in the Knapford roundhouse began to nod off…

Lammergeier's eyes suddenly popped wide open. He could see the sun halfway through its dive beneath the horizon again, but how could that be? He'd just watched it set all the way out of sight! Then he felt movement inside his cab, the door to his firebox being opened. Dawn already? Really? But yes, now that he looked more closely, that new sun was definitely rising. _And_ it had suddenly switched position from one side of the yard to the other...duh! Lammergeier felt pleased with himself. He'd been convinced that he wouldn't sleep a wink, but instead he'd slept as soundly as a brain-dead freighter.

Denise came about in front of him, checking his two lamps as part of her usual walkabout. She smiled at him, but said nothing, and Lammergeier followed suit; some of the other engines, including Adler, were still asleep. He could hear a little movement going on over in Hurricane's berth too and soon glimpsed one of the tank engine's crew doing his own walkabout. Almost time for the two of them—and Guy as well—to go, he thought with satisfaction. Denise had told him the day before that he and the other engines meant for display would be setting out together for Ulfstead shortly after dawn and it looked as though they were right on schedule.

As soon as the trio was out on the lines and they no longer had to remain so quiet, however, Lammergeier was confronted with a nasty surprise. It wasn't his usual fireman Pierre in his cab tending to his fire after all, it was his engineer, that sneaky Christophe person. No wonder 'Pierre' had seemed so light on his feet! If Lammergeier hadn't been so distracted by his anticipation and excitement, he would have clued in at once.

"Where's Pierre?" he demanded in French, interrupting his crew's conversation.

There was a pause. "Well, howdy do to you too," Denise finally said, her voice dripping sarcasm.

"Pierre's off driving Henry," Christophe added. Since Lammergeier couldn't see them, he felt perfectly safe in wearing a big grin as he spoke and almost laughed aloud at the engine's obvious consternation. "I volunteered to help keep an eye on you," he went on, "so don't even _think_ about misbehaving today. No matter what you do, I'll be right here, watching. So…watch it."

Now Denise was having a hard time not laughing and she didn't feel in the least bit sorry for Lammergeier. She thought he deserved to be threatened for breaking into their conversation so rudely. Lammergeier didn't say another word for the remainder of the trip up to Ulfstead and it was just as well. He was undoubtedly sulking, his usual go-to behaviour when things weren't to his liking.

Lammergeier was indeed in a sour snit, but snapped out of it the instant he glimpsed the first castle turret looming over the magnificent pale bluff the tracks were gradually ascending. There was even a part of the castle which appeared to have been built into the bank itself…wonderful! Then there was a last steep curve and the tracks straightened out and the ground leveled, and the three engines arrived at Ulfstead station, with the estate grounds and the castle proper spread out before them.

How open and expansive it all was and what beautiful views! And the station was larger than Lammergeier expected, with multiple platforms and numerous through tracks and sidings. A five-berth roundhouse with even more connecting tracks had recently been added to one side to both house the new engines the owner of the estate, Sir Robert Norramby, had bought and to serve as an interesting railway exhibit on its own. Some of the new shed's residents were already lined up at one of the platforms and Hurricane, who was leading the Knapford engines, called to them excitedly as they pulled in at the next platform over. They were Hurricane's former colleagues, Lammergeier knew, from the Mainland industrial site where they'd all worked together for a time before being phased out and replaced by more diesel engines. It was an incredible stroke of luck for all of them that they'd found new owners and homes where they could still occasionally see one another and remain friends.

Lammergeier looked them over while his driver jockeyed him into his own final position between Hurricane and Guy. He could tell at a glance why they'd been bought by someone who ran a railway museum; two of them were the weirdest-looking engines he'd ever seen and the third had some kind of messed-up multiple funnel thing going on plus which he appeared crazy. Friendly, though. He was the first one to call over to Lammergeier and welcome him.

"Any friend of Adi's is a friend of ours," he concluded merrily, "and I should hope that you're friends, given that you're brothers, yes? Ha. Ha ha!"

"Okay," Lammergeier replied. Yup, nuts for sure. He wasn't too sure about the one in the middle, the one called Lexi, either. She was an even worse chatterbox than Philip and her cab-forward design was just plain odd. He had no idea of what the smallest engine at the front of their lineup was supposed to be. From his position all he could really make out were a bunch of giant cogs bracketing something low-slung that shook a lot.

Denise and Christophe, who'd set his brakes and damped his fire in the meantime, hopped down out of his cab. Christophe went back to speak to Guy and his crew for a bit while Denise went forward to see how her own engine was making out.

"Well? Happy so far?" the woman asked him, speaking German to help set him at ease.

"I'm fine. What is that strange little loco over there?"

"You mean Theo? He's a traction engine. Have you ever seen one before?"

"No. We didn't use— Oh!"

Denise, surprised by _his_ surprise, tried to see what Lammergeier was suddenly staring at. It didn't take long to spot what had caught his eye. Stephen—the Rocket—was pulling up to the platform at the other side of the station with his colourful string of open coaches. The 48 appeared mesmerized by the sight of him.

"Ah. Our Stephen," she said. "Over a hundred and twenty-five years old and still full of himself. Pretty impressive, isn't he?"

"Yes," Lammergeier breathed, his admiration for once utterly honest. Denise gave him an approving pat.

"I suspect he'll be kept far too busy to do any visiting with us this weekend," she said. "But sometime next week we can always come back up and I'll introduce you, if you like. He's really nice."

"I would like that." He watched as another small engine, also with several open coaches, pulled in behind the Rocket. The new loco was even more bizarre-looking than Theo, the new winner in the oddities department. Denise saw Lammergeier's expression turn sceptical and confused, and chuckled.

"That's Glynn," she told him before he could ask. "He's a vertical boiler engine. He actually used to work on our railway years ago until his design was phased out."

"Vertical… Why vertical?"

Denise shrugged. "Just an early design variant. I guess they worked quite well, but didn't offer any real improvements over Stephen's design. So that's why you look like Stephen's big cousin and not Glynn's."

"Thank goodness!" Lammergeier exclaimed, saying it with such prissy vehemence that Denise couldn't help grinning.

The sun was well up by now and the unseasonable warmth was holding on. Although the estate wasn't open to the public yet, a lot of people were already present and helping to set up numerous booths and additional displays. Some of them, the ones wearing distinctive yellow vests, came over to the two display platforms. These were the volunteers from the Friends Of Steam club, who were always happy to assist with managing the engines on exhibit for no other reason than because they loved being around steam locomotives and relished the opportunity to actually befriend one. Lammergeier, the new guy, proved to be quite the draw. His brother Adler was one of the volunteers' favourites and everyone present knew about how Lammergeier had been saved from a French scrapyard and already felt kindly towards him because of it.

As for Lammergeier, he looked at the volunteers a little askance at first, but wound up basking in their admiration once Denise stepped in and catered to his language preference a little bit. The language issue was one of the reasons she and Christophe had decided to remain with him themselves for the time being, then take breaks in turn once he proved reliable. Engines could be funny when it came to how they interacted with strangers in public. Some were naturals at schmoozing with humans and putting them at ease. Others were awkward or came off as unintentionally intimidating or were rattled by noisy crowds in general. Lammergeier's crew was already sure he'd be fine with crowds and commotion…not so sure about the level of his friendliness or inclination to socialize. The way he'd behaved with the volunteers boded well, though. He was certainly in a good mood, and the more he looked about, the more comfortable and jovial he seemed to become.

The very first visitors began to show up. These were invariably local people, who'd driven up to the castle grounds to get in as early as possible and beat the crowds. Some went over to the castle itself to see the new exhibits. Others headed for the platform where Stephen and Glynn were waiting to take people on a short rail tour of the entire estate. And the die-hard railfans, they made a beeline for the platforms where the display engines were waiting, eager to get up close and personal with the machines that fueled and haunted their dreams and sometimes served as items to be ticked off on a checklist.

Lammergeier again came in for his share of attention. The railfans were like the volunteers; almost all of them knew of Lammergeier's rescue and that he was a rare 48 and related to Adler. They spoke more to Denise than they did to the engine himself, which he began to find boring, and Lammergeier in a good mood and bored was a dangerous combination. To amuse himself, he began announcing some of the visitors, speaking just loudly enough to warn Denise of their approach. Some of the announcements he used weren't exactly polite. Denise tried her best to ignore his less-than-helpful efforts. The little rush of enthusiasts keen to have a look at him was almost over anyway.

" _Hier kommt 'ne Olle mit 'ne Haube_ ," Lammergeier suddenly muttered. This time Denise scowled at him. He was slipping into his Berlin dialect, always a bad sign; Denise could barely understand him and Adler when the two German engines really got into it together and spoke Berlinisch. And he was right. A plump woman who'd been looking at Hurricane was starting to toddle their way. She had an actual toddler attached to her via a death grip on his hand and had an older baby tucked under her other arm like a loaf of bread, and was indeed wearing a bizarre sort of bonnet or maybe it was a head scarf with a bunch of fake blossoms stuck to it, just as Lammergeier had said.

"She looks like a flower garden," he added cheerfully, still in his fractured Berlin German. "Or a landscaping project."

Denise's mouth started to twitch. The woman with the kids was wearing an ample dress that did look rather flowery. Lammergeier eyed her vegetative excess with wicked delight.

"Two hills and a sunken garden…"

"Shut up!" Denise hissed at him. "You don't even know what you're saying." Then the woman was there, too close for Denise to risk being overheard trying to chew out her engine any longer. The woman stopped by Lammergeier's buffer beam and regarded him with vapid eyes.

"Oh look, Tommy!" she exclaimed, yanking on the little boy's hand. "Isn't that a pretty train? He's so red." Then the new roundhouse just a short distance away caught her attention. "Oh, and look! There's a train house. See it? That's where the trains live."

Lammergeier said, "Lady, you don't have all your cups in the cabinet, do you?"

Denise couldn't take it any longer. Struggling mightily to keep a straight face, she fled back to Christophe, who was hanging out by Lammergeier's cab.

"He's making rude comments about the visitors," she pleaded with him, not needing to specify who 'he' was.

"So? Tell him to stop."

"I can't! He's speaking that awful Berlinisch. I can't help laughing."

"Oh man, some disciplinarian you are," Christophe scoffed, although he was on the verge of laughing himself. "Okay, say no more. Stay here and I'll give it a shot for a while."

Even though he knew it was mean, Christophe couldn't help snickering a bit as he went forward to take up the gauntlet in his friend's place. He knew from his own past experience how difficult it was to keep an engine in line once said engine's bad behaviour started making you laugh, even the slightest bit.

As expected, Lammergeier frowned as soon as he saw him. "Where's Denise?" he asked in French.

"We switched positions. She'll be minding your cab for a while," Christophe answered.

He turned his back and knew without looking that Lammergeier was scowling at him. And while Christophe couldn't realistically stop him from continuing to mutter away to himself in German if he wanted to, he guessed that Lammergeier wouldn't get much pleasure out of it anymore now that there was no one about who could understand him. The engine's French, though excellent, likely wasn't on the idiomatic level required to be cracking smart jokes either, so hopefully he'd reconsider and cool it.

Sure enough, that was exactly what happened. With his naughtiness stymied, Lammergeier went silent and he stayed silent, confining himself to the odd heavy sigh to show how much he was suffering. Christophe ignored him.

Lammergeier perked up again, however, once he heard a familiar whistle and saw James pull in at the main platform with several coaches, the first of numerous local runs slated to come up to Ulfstead during the weekend. He knew that James didn't care for him or Adler either, if only because the bright red portions of their liveries rivalled the smaller loco's own red coat, and the 48 was in a mood to torment him about it. Alas, James had stopped too far forward on his platform and didn't even seem to notice Lammergeier, or if he did, was pretending not to. Very disappointing… But there was nothing much to be done about it.

A bunch of kids suddenly came running up to him, screaming in their excitement. "Lambchop! Hi, Lambchop!" they shouted at him and bounced up and down, giggling. Lammergeier regarded them with alarm. Who were these little hellions and why were they yelling his name?

Christophe swung into tour guide mode immediately. "Hello, kids!" he said cheerfully. "Come to welcome our new boy to Sodor, have you?"

They shrieked again, in the affirmative.

"Well, you'll have to forgive him if he doesn't say much back to you. His English isn't very good yet, you see. And he can be a bit shy. It's his first time up here."

Lammergeier was outraged. Shy!

"I speak!" he interrupted. "Hallo! Pleez to meet you."

The children giggled again, this time at his accent. Several adults came up, presumably the parents of the hell-brood, and they were amused too.

"What a handsome engine!" one of the mums exclaimed. "You can really see he's related to Adi, can't you?" she said to Christophe.

"Yes, ma'am. A true pair of brothers. Not identical, but very similar."

"I think I saw this one going past the animal park the other day," said one of the men. "Bringing a load of slate to Brendam? Does that sound about right?"

"If it was in the afternoon, then it was probably him," said Christophe. "He's excellent at moving heavy goods. A real hard worker." He made a show of patting the edge of Lammergeier's running board. "Aren't you, Lambchop?"

" _Ja_. I pull hard."

"Well, I'm glad you found your way to Sodor," said the woman who'd called him handsome. "I hope you like it here."

"Zank you."

The little group dispersed and moved on to visit with Hurricane, the kids making a point of yelling their good byes to 'Lambchop' before they did so. Christophe looked curiously at his locomotive. He'd started off strong with a little sly prodding, then his enthusiasm had seemed to fizzle out, although he'd remained polite and said the right words (as best he could). It was odd… The visitors had been exceptionally nice. Most male engines Christophe knew would've been over the moon given the 'handsome' comment alone. But Lammergeier hadn't even smiled and had in the end treated the exchange as though it were a duty instead of as a pleasurable opportunity to socialize with the people he served in a relaxed setting. Christophe pondered the situation. Obviously no engine could be permitted to insult or harass the visitors who came to see them, but he also wanted Lammergeier to enjoy himself today and not come away thinking that being put on display was an onerous task to be avoided at all costs.

Hurricane's boisterous laugh floated back at that point, interrupting the little engineer's train of thought. (Sorry.) Now there was a loco who loved his display days and he'd come from something of the same officious background as had the two 48s. Hurricane had warmed instantly to the notion that he could have more than just a pragmatic, unemotional relationship with a human once he'd come to Sodor and was now friendly and welcoming to everybody and adored his crew, who were so fond of him in turn that they sometimes wound down at the end of their workday by staying with him while they had a last cup of tea and played a game of checkers. The two men would always play on a folding table which they'd bring out along with a couple of chairs and set up on the track in front of Hurricane's berth, too, so he could follow along; this never failed to fascinate the big tank engine. All the locos in the foreign shed had similar warm feelings for their special humans and for people in general…all except for moody Lammergeier.

There was a bit of a lull in the foot traffic, now that the folks who'd gotten off the local and who'd wanted to see Lammergeier first had already come through. Christophe decided to try appealing to the loco's ego.

"Do you know how it is that those kids came up already yelling your name?" he asked, using French again to further encourage him.

Lammergeier shifted his eyes to glance sideways at the man. He looked bored.

"Someone told them my name."

"They likely read about you in the Sodor Times. They had quite the spread about this weekend's activities at Ulfstead and you were mentioned specifically as being set to make your debut as an exhibit. They even had a photo of you."

That caught his attention. "Did they?" he said. "Was it a good one?"

"Why not see for yourself? Would you like to see the article, Lammergeier?"

"Yes. Yes, I would!"

"Alrighty then. Sit tight for a minute and I'll go find it for you."

He trotted off, gleeful that Lammergeier had taken the bait. En route, he stopped by Denise, warned her that he'd be leaving for a bit and for her to watch their engine and not let him curse out the visitors too badly, then hurried on before she could ask any questions. The Sodor Times was a popular newspaper and it didn't take Christophe long to snag a copy of the latest issue at one of the kiosks being set up. He brought it back and prevailed upon his colleague once more.

"Here," he said, thrusting the paper into her hands. "Do me a huge favour and climb up on Lammergeier and show him the article they wrote about this weekend that has his picture in it. Oh, and read it to him if he wants. I don't think his English is good enough yet for him to read it himself."

"What? Right now?" she protested. "I can't be climbing around on him now!"

"Why not? There's no rule against it. I can manage on my own. Besides, the visitors'll love it. An engine reading the newspaper…very human, no?"

"Ugh. You two… Is he at least behaving himself? I haven't heard you yelling at him yet."

"He's been good. Think of this as a reward. Pleeaaazze, Denise? I'd hop up myself, but he likes you better. And you can translate for him if he gets stuck on a word."

"Cripes. Okay, gimme a boost."

She got onto Lammergeier's running board by grabbing hold of his foremost railing post while Christophe gave her a leg-over. The engine was glad to see her and studied his own photo avidly and followed along when Denise began reading the article aloud to him. He looked happy and intrigued as he absorbed the words, exactly as a loco on public display ought to look.

Christophe looked around. As he'd hoped and expected, a lot of the visitors close by had noticed that the red and black German engine appeared to be reading a newspaper being held in front of his face by one of his crew and they were getting a big kick out of it. A small crowd began to gather. Many of them took snapshots. Even better, Christophe could see a man with a much more elaborate, professional-looking camera slung about his neck sidling their way. He knew it was one of the Island's official photo-journalists, no doubt on the hunt for some good early human interest stuff, and sure enough, the man soon began angling for the perfect shot of the woman and her locomotive, reading the paper together. Once satisfied, he exchanged his camera for a little notebook and came over to Christophe.

"Hi," the photo-journalist said. "This is very cute, the two of them. That's Missus…Doyon up there, yes? Denise Doyon?"

"That's right. She's Lambchop's official driver right now and her husband, Pierre, is his fireman. I'm just filling in for Pierre for the weekend."

"Ah. I was going to ask." He paused to scribble a few lines in his notebook. "You're still working at the steamworks, normally, the engineer for the foreign engines, aren't you?"

"I am. I supervised Lambchop's restoration."

The man paused again to look Lammergeier over, long and hard.

"You must have done something right," he concluded. "He looks wonderful. Nice fellow?"

"I think he is. And of course, as you can see, he's very intelligent. The only reason Denise is reading to him at all is because he's still working on his English. He's already fluent in French in addition to German."

"So he'll soon be trilingual. Huh." The man's gaze grew admiring. "Puts a lot of us to shame, really."

"It's more than I'm capable of. I'm only bilingual," said Christophe. "Some of these engines are truly remarkable."

"Yes," the photo-journalist agreed thoughtfully. "Well, thank you for your time. I think one of the shots I got may well wind up in the Sodor Times. I made sure that their masthead was visible."

Christophe laughed. "I think you're right, then. Pretty irresistible for an editor, I'd say."

"That's what I'm hoping," the man said, and off he went.

Christophe felt great. He'd just gotten Lammergeier some very positive press and the engine was making everyone who was looking at him smile…with a little help from a certain human friend. This was exactly the sort of start to Lammergeier's side job as a tourist engine Christophe wanted to see.

The long wailing whistle of a big approaching locomotive drifted up from the tracks leading up to the estate's station. A minute later, Connor, one of the Mainland express engines, pulled in. His coaches were packed full and the folks who poured out added to the number of visitors already present significantly; it was shaping up to be a very busy day indeed. Lammergeier, who'd just finished with the newspaper article, stared over at the streamlined American engine with great interest. He'd seen Connor before, but only from a distance. Denise, who was still up on the 48's running board, stretched an arm out over the junction of the top of his facial plate and smokebox and leaned against the side of his face in a friendly fashion.

"What is he, exactly, that loco who just came in?" Lammergeier asked her.

"Connor? He's a Hudson, from a railway on the Eastern coast of the United States. Not to be confused with our Francois, who's a Royal Hudson. Like his streamlining?"

"I'm not sure… He does look fast."

"Oh, he's fast all right. Faster than you and faster even than Gordon, I believe, although I doubt Gordon would ever admit it." She rubbed the top of Lammergeier's face absently. "But that's all he does, Conner…he moves passengers. He's not as versatile as you are."

Her favour for Christophe done, Denise gave Lammergeier one last pat and got set to hop down. "Well, I've got to get back to doing touristy things," she said. "Are you going to behave yourself?"

The engine looked surprised. "Can't you stay up here with me?"

"No. Now, are you going to behave or not? Because if you're going to start insulting people again, I'm staying back by your cab."

"I won't insult anyone," he promised, and then—yes, he was that shameless—gave her one of his winks. Denise got down before he could see her blushing. Maybe he didn't care if anyone saw what he'd just done, but she did, and for some reason was embarrassed about it.

And of course one of the people who HAD seen was the one who helped her get back over on the platform again. "So. You and Lammergeier made up, did you?" Christophe asked, smirking. "Engagement back on, is it? Lovers' spat over?"

"I swear I'm going to punch you right in the head," Denise growled. "But yes, I think he'll be okay now."

"Good. Give me a wave if you need help," said Christophe, and left her to continue monitoring Lammergeier's interactions with the visitors again.

The low wails of two additional engines approaching from below began echoing about the Ulfstead grounds. Both Lammergeier and his crew perked up this time. These whistles they knew…the first excursion trains, pulled by Justin and Francois, were coming in. Although both had taken slightly different routes since picking up their tour groups from the cruise ships earlier that morning, the two trains were slated to visit Ulfstead at the same time and often came in within a few minutes of each other. Today it was Francois in the lead and his crew chose the left-hand platforms as their stopping point while Justin took the through track on the main display platform. The passengers piled out gleefully, already enthused by the scenic drive up to the estate. As soon as everyone had disembarked and it was safe to do so, Francois and Justin moved their trains into the sidings in the center of the station yard, a bit of nimble maneuvering which many of the new visitors watched with great interest. The coaches would be safe there plus it freed up the through tracks again for other traffic. It also allowed for the two excursion engines to be uncoupled so they could take up their places to become temporary short-term exhibits themselves.

Francois again took the lead as the two Canadian engines settled in at the other side of the Knapford engines' platform. The five of them made for quite the colourful group, given that the two newcomers plus Guy were all painted up in the same two-tone scheme as was Lammergeier, except that they were black below paired with a truly gorgeous tone the colour of a deep blue sea, accented with bold red stripes and a little gold or white. Hurricane's red-brown livery, by contrast, was of a more prosaic design, but it glowed like a chestnut freshly fallen from its shell, and its red-banded accents gave him a deluxe, made-to-order appearance with an appeal all its own.

Justin, who fancied himself the unofficial leader of the Knapford gang, had his concerns about Lammergeier and made a point of speaking to him first.

"Hey, Lambchop. How you doin' over there?"

"I am fine," the other engine answered. Actually, he was a little annoyed at being singled out. It was obvious to him that Justin thought he might be in trouble or causing trouble. Lammergeier gazed over at the sidings where the trains had been parked, in part to admire them but also to make it clear that he wasn't interested in talking any further. They were certainly beautiful coaches, six of them in total plus the two brake coaches, and all of them painted to match the Canadians' liveries. The tours they took part in had become so popular that there was talk of buying yet another train's worth of coaches of similar make, in which case even Guy would be pressed into service to pull them, even though he was nothing of a passenger locomotive—his specialty was heavy goods and snowplowing. It wasn't fair, thought Lammergeier. He was the one who ought to be pulling luxury trains, not that…that lunk of a freighter!

Justin, meanwhile, put off by Lammergeier's reaction, sought confirmation from his friend Denise. They still knew each other well enough that all Justin had to do was look at her and let his expression speak.

"He really is fine," she called before strolling over to reassure Justin further and talk with his disembarking crew. She watched the two men walk off to take a break after exchanging a bit of chitchat, feeling rather envious. Justin was one of those engines who was so good with people and so trustworthy that he could always be left on his own no matter how big the crowds became. All he ever needed help with was for someone to watch his cab and keep the nutjobs from trying to climb aboard and play choo-choo driver. Denise stroked the tall loco's beautifully streamlined front while they had a brief, fond conversation, then she went forward and greeted Francois' own departing crew before giving the Royal Hudson his own share of attention. Like Justin, Francois was another personable, trustworthy one and totally safe to leave on his own. It made Denise sick sometimes to think that the two of them had come so close to being scrapped back in Canada. There were far too many good engines being deemed obsolete and losing their lives nowadays.

Happy and refreshed by having spent a few minutes with her old favourites, Denise returned to her self-imposed station by Lammergeier's leading axels. The 48 was still staring at the trains brought in by the Canadians and totally ignoring the visitors who were looking up at him. Typical.

But it was by no means all bad, though. Denise and Christophe both enjoyed talking to the visitors, especially the avid enthusiasts, and it became especially fun when the visitors were foreign tourists and they'd all scout around searching for that one language they might have in common. Train-love was pretty universal and easily communicated. If Lammergeier didn't feel like socializing, well, his two human minders would socialize for him. He was only hurting himself by missing out, and as long as he let people look at him without putting them off with sour or intimidating expressions or belittling comments, he was fulfilling his obligations as an exhibition locomotive, strictly speaking. And of course the Friends Of Steam folks were always there, happy to guard Lammergeier's cab while one or the other of his crew took a break for whatever reason. The rest of the morning thus passed rather cheerfully, and it was fun to watch Justin and Francois later on reconnect with their trains and then gather up their respective flocks before departing again with long wails of their whistles and great whooshes of steam. Unlike Lammergeier, the two Canadian engines and their crews knew exactly how to please the crowds and they liked doing so.

The lunch hour came and went. Another local train and then the Mainland express again arrived to disgorge their human loads and the numbers of people present swelled again. The beautiful weather held, almost cloudless and as warm as a midsummer day, with just a hint of crispness evident in the fitful breeze. Almost everyone was smiling and seemed happy to be enjoying the estate's great natural beauties and its viewpoints and the castle and its exhibits. And of course they loved all the splendid engines on site.

Round about midafternoon, Lammergeier finally heard the one thing he'd actually been listening for all day, the low imperious whistling cry of his brother announcing his approach to Ulfstead. Adler soon glided in at Lammergeier's own platform as smoothly as a pennant ship, flying all his banners, looking so wonderful that his arrival prompted a ripple of applause from everyone standing nearby. Unlike the coaches making up the Canadians' trains, the three coaches and brake coach being pulled by Adler were considerably shorter, short enough that all four plus their engine could fit neatly at the display platform. And they were coaches who were definitely worthy of being exhibited—they were alive, for starters, a fairly rare thing in of itself. They'd also been created to serve as their owner's, the famous late American railroad tycoon Mister EP Beauchamp's, private transportation, and were thus of ornate and lavish make and about as close to royalty as it got in the United States when it came to rolling stock. The Beauchamp coaches loved being out and about and meeting new passengers and they loved being pulled by such a courtly, good-looking engine such as Adler, and he loved pulling them in turn. It was, as they say, a win-win situation, and the passengers lucky enough to be aboard thought it was a pretty darn sweet arrangement too.

Adler rolled his eyes, trying to see his sibling even as he was being settled in at the front of the platform. "Lammergeier? Doing all right over there, brother?"

The other 48 being addressed just felt ticked off all over again. Why was everyone acting as though they expected him to mess up? He knew how to comport himself, thank you very much!

"I'm doing fine," he called back, his tone rather peevish. He looked over Adler's coaches. They matched their engine's paint scheme perfectly, the thick white trim line separating their scarlet and black carried all the way through to the end of the brake coach. Lammergeier sighed, feeling more envious than ever. "You look good, Adler. Really good. Better even than the old days. A lot more colourful. I like it."

"Thanks. I like it too. Just so you know, most of my passengers today are from Europe."

Lammergeier said nothing more. He knew Adler's last words had been something of a warning to him and he didn't appreciate it. To make it worse, he felt his driver's hand on the edge of his foremost running board and she added, "Yeah, so no smart remarks from you, please, in whatever language. You'll never get to pull those coaches if they think you're ill-mannered."

Now that was just uncalled for, Lammergeier thought. He'd just been trying to have a little fun earlier on before that killjoy of an engineer had stepped in! Well, if his old fuddy-duddy brother and his crew wanted it formal, then he'd give them formal. It was all he'd ever known back in Germany anyway, where passenger engines in particular were meant to be seen and not heard, warning bells and whistles aside.

Adler's fireman got out and joined the brakeman—two brakemen, actually—in tending to the coaches' doors, opening them and offering assistance if such was required as the passengers began to disembark. Lammergeier looked them over closely and listened in to their happy chatter as they took in their new venue and began drifting closer. Swiss, Austrian and French, the 48 thought, and some of the Austrians had to be from Vienna—their soft, lilting dialect was unmistakable. How odd to hear so many familiar sorts of voices from his days of running the rails in Europe here on this very British island set far away from the Continent. And with Adler sitting idle at the same platform just across from him, all done up as he'd been when they were promoting events…well, it seemed as though time had just slipped backward for both of them.

The new visitors were kind and well-informed. They referred to him by his real name and even his build number and expressed their pleasure at seeing him so well restored and in full working order again; evidently, the tour had included a dose of locomotive history. Lammergeier felt especially smug when he overheard both Denise and Christophe explaining that he was the more accurate of the two 48s, the only one who still had all his original parts from buffer to buffer whereas Adler had a modified tender. He wished that they'd also mention that he was the faster engine, but alas, they did not.

Adler and his coaches remained at Ulfstead for several hours. Lammergeier never did get the chance to speak much with his brother. They were too far apart, relative to one another, and there were simply too many people about. Instead, he had to settle for watching Denise go over and chat with Adler awhile, then she hobnobbed with Erich and Dieter Dornwith, the two men who crewed Adler, and after that she even visited with the two brakemen. It wasn't until he looked closely at the brakemen that Lammergeier suddenly realized that they were the trainee instructor, Mister Ray, and one of the youngsters, the short, blond-haired boy called John or Joe or something like that, all done up in proper uniforms, and that realization for some inane reason annoyed him. He was even more annoyed when he saw Denise laugh and give the boy a hug before walking off and out of his field of vision along with Adler's crew, and this time he had good reason to feel ticked because he had to put up with Christophe tending to him during her absence. Denise and the Dornwiths didn't come back, in fact, until shortly before Adler was due to leave. By then most of his tour group had already returned to the display platforms and it took little time after that to get everybody aboard again and settled in, and the opportunity for any sort of proper farewell between the brothers was lost. Adler soon chuffed off with a great blast from his whistle amidst a huge cloud of brilliant white steam. The thick tendrils of mist curling up about his black wheels and being set aswirl by the flapping flags made for a wonderful and memorable departing sight, but Lammergeier was still sorry that he hadn't be able to say good bye as he'd wanted to.

The remainder of the day wore on. Lammergeier continued to behave himself, but never did pay much attention to the visitors milling around. He spent far more time watching Stephen and Glynn come and go and staring off at the other engines on the premises and several times responded to a question put to him directly with a blank stare, as if he couldn't understand a word. Denise felt bad for the people he ignored and followed Christophe's lead in sometimes intervening for Lammergeier with such comments as "his English isn't very good yet, I'm afraid" (true) or "he's not much used to crowds yet and is feeling a little shy" (totally false) or even "I think he's too overwhelmed and distracted by all the excitement to talk much today…it's his first time here, you know" (quasi-true). But then came the supper-time lull when the numbers of people about dwindled and Denise found out exactly how much attention he'd really been paying.

"That young woman and the man who stopped and looked at me about half an hour ago," Lammergeier suddenly spoke up as soon as they found themselves alone for a spell, the term 'alone' being relative. "They mentioned Wagner. What did they mean by what they said?"

Now Denise was the one drawing a blank.

"Er…could you be more specific? A lot of people have been stopping to look at you."

"It was the woman who said I looked like something out of a Wagnerian dream. What did she mean by that?"

Denise paused, feeling more than a little annoyed. And here he'd been pretending at times that he couldn't understand a word of English! Still, it was a legitimate question.

"Okay. First, do you know who Wagner is?" she asked him.

"Of course. A composer who is popular in my homeland. He wrote the Ring Cycle."

"Yes," she replied, pleased by the depth of his knowledge. "Well, those operas he wrote, some of which make up that Cycle, tend to feature very specific types of characters."

"You mean archetypes?"

"Right," she affirmed, and paused again, her pleasure now mixed with honest surprise. Where had Lammergeier even heard of such a thing? How bright was he, anyway? "That woman," she continued on, "was probably thinking of the hero archetype when she said you looked like something out of a Wagnerian dream. Your facial features do appear rather…Teutonic. Ideally Teutonic."

Lammergeier paused himself at that point to reflect upon her words for a few moments. "Like the idealized depictions of male humans on the propaganda posters I saw," he finally concluded, and Denise felt the hair lift up on the nape of her neck, not from any sort of fright or apprehension, but because she suddenly got the 'spooky' comment Christophe had once made about the quality of Lammergeier's intellect. Engines weren't supposed to be capable of genuine abstract thinking and deductive reasoning. It wasn't intended to be a part of their makeup because not a one of them needed such abilities to do their jobs.

Lammergeier abruptly smiled. "Is this why you people think I'm handsome? Because I appear…idealized?" he asked, and Denise could swear that his words were tinged with a hint of coyness, something else that should have been beyond him. She struggled briefly with what her loco had just revealed, unsure of how to answer him.

"Um. Yeah," she replied at last. "I guess."

"Our faces reflect the expectations of our builders, I think," Lammergeier mused aloud, and mercifully went silent.

Although her own face had remained composed, inside, Denise was now a seething ball of excitement. 'reflect the expectations of our builders'…I _have_ to remember that! she thought wildly. She wished Christophe was still present so she could run back and relate the conversation she'd just had before she forgot any of it, but he was off having dinner and one of the Friends Of Steam volunteers was manning his position in the meantime. She made do by committing the most important lines of dialog to memory instead.

Another last flush of visitors off another local train pulled by Edward got things moving again for a while. Although barely past supper time, it was already almost time for the sun to set. Many of the new people had come to watch the fireworks scheduled to go off as soon as it became dark and strolled quickly about in the waning light, visiting with some of the display engines while they were still able to even see them. The artifacts museum inside the castle was also still open and would remain so until the fireworks display was over, but of course that part of the estate was better lit; it could wait. Denise was pleased to see Lammergeier take more interest in his visitors as twilight began closing in. He even said a few words to them now and then. Probably fishing for more compliments, his driver thought, grinning to herself. He'd probably be insufferable on a whole new level now that she'd pretty much confirmed that a lot of humans found him good-looking.

The last visitor to the display engine platforms was ushered off and the Friends Of Steam volunteers on duty closed the ramps off for the night with temporary barricades. The forecast for the night was for clear skies and the display engines would be left outside. They'd be guarded, though, just in case; some of the volunteers were already setting up with folding chairs, blankets, and other comforts, getting ready to enjoy the fireworks along with everyone else. Christophe, who'd returned again right after Edward showed up, looked over at Denise and gave her a thumbs up and made a gesture of wiping sweat from his brow. The woman expressed her own silent, non-eavesdroppable assessment by pointing at Lammergeier, rolling her eyes, and see-sawing her held-out hand to indicate so-so. In other words, not too bad for their first show day out with a difficult engine. They'd both known worse.

"Well, I'm off to visit with Guy," Christophe said aloud after that. "We going home after the fireworks with the volunteers or with the local?"

"The volunteers. They've got a couple of cars going straight to Knapford."

"Sounds good. Meet me at their stand in case we get separated in the crowd."

"Will do," Denise agreed, and watched her friend walk back to the Canadian engine at the end of the platform. She knew that Guy was Christophe's favourite and that he was always looking for opportunities to spend time with the husky Northern. Her gaze went to Lammergeier. He was already looking at her, his glass-hard eyes glittering with reflected light in the near-dark.

"Want some company up there?"

His lopsided smirk was all the invitation she needed. It was too risky to try just jumping over onto him on her own. She took the safer route of climbing down onto the track and slipping the loop of tough cloth she always kept crumpled up in her pocket over the coupling hook on his buffer beam and using it as a stirrup to hoist herself up. The first scintillating explosion burst in the air high over Ulfstead castle as she settled herself by Lammergeier's face just as she had earlier in the day, when the two of them had watched Connor. This time it was the fireworks display which absorbed them. And while Denise never knew what the engine thought of it all, for her it became one of the best memories she had of her time spent with him…just the opportunity to stand peaceably for once, enjoying the mild evening, the long streaks and sparkling lights arcing across the heavens reflecting in the mirror gloss over the loco's boiler, the appreciative oohing and applause of the crowd… Lammergeier could be a pain, but he did have his moments. This was one of them.

The locomotives who were being left outside went on to have a peaceful, uneventful night once the visitors were cleared away later that evening. Lammergeier again slept very well and woke up shortly after dawn to a brisk conversation already underway between Hurricane and his experimental engine friends, with Guy tossing in the occasional, almost indecipherable comment in his fractured English. It was the first time the display engines really felt free to chat amongst themselves, given that only a few bleary-eyed Friends Of Steam people were to be seen yet anywhere near the station, and Lammergeier soon found himself engaged in a lively dialogue with Lexi. Unfortunately for the 48, it was almost entirely one-sided. Lexi evidently liked the strong, silent type when it came to male engines and was perfectly happy to ramble on all by herself as long as Lammergeier contributed the odd "okay" or " _ja_ ". At least it gave him plenty of time to just look at her, and now that he'd become used to her odd configuration, he had to admit to himself that she was quite pretty and beautifully coloured. A volunteer she liked distracted her in turn after a while, much to his relief, and Lammergeier watched the human down an entire cup of steaming tea before Lexi wore out towards the end of her new conversation. He was pretty sure that the man hadn't said a single word, either, but the man didn't seem to mind. Maybe he thought that the cab-forward engine was pretty too.

Lammergeier began watching for his crew to arrive. Denise had told him the day before that she and Christophe would be coming back shortly after dawn and partaking in a complimentary breakfast being offered up in the castle courtyard to any volunteers or duty personnel. The sun was by now rising fast and Lammergeier hoped that this meant that his crew was already present and would soon come over to him. He was tired of having to listen to English and only interact in English and wanted Denise to come and speak German with him—he knew she would indulge him that way. His vigil so absorbed him that he almost missed the appearance of one of the most important human figures on the whole of the Island. It was only thanks to the experimental engines on the next platform over raising their voices in sudden, cheerful greeting that alerted him that their own owner, Sir Robert Norramby, the Earl of Sodor, had finally found the time to pay them a visit.

"Oh, look at you. Aren't you all beautiful. Aren't you lovely!" his effusive voice exclaimed with unrestrained enthusiasm, floating over from behind his engines' obscuring forms. "And so many splendid comments and compliments from our visitors all day yesterday. Whatever you're doing, do please keep it up," he told them.

Lammergeier caught glimpses of the man as he walked down the line, chatting on a more personal level with one of his locomotives after the other. He became especially vocal with Merlin, the engine with three funnels, and to Lammergeier's hearing, they sounded exactly alike, both plummy and more than a little crazy. Still, this was a VIP, as humans went, and the 48 put forth his best effort to be welcoming when Sir Robert eventually came over to look at him and the other Knapford engines.

"And here's our Lambchop in person at last," he enthused. "I've so been looking forward to meeting you! And thank you for lending us your presence this weekend. It's quite the story to have found you and Adi both and reunite you on our little island…really tugs at the old heartstrings."

"Zank you, Sir Robert Norramby, sir. I am pleez to meet you also. _Und_ zank you for vanting me _hier_. Iz an honour."

"Oh, you are very, very welcome. And I confess I asked Sir Topham to let you come to please the enthusiasts first and foremost. A chance to get up close with a truly authentic example of a very rare class…how often does that happen? Even your brother was modified before he came to us. And our good Hurricane here, and even our Stephen, who's needed his fair share of replacement repairs over the years, alas. But you, you're still exactly as you were fresh off your build, aren't you? That's quite spectacular, considering you came through the thick of a World War…really superb original engineering, I'd say, not to mention a generous dose of luck!"

Lammergeier felt a rare sensation of real pride seep through him, rare in the sense that it was a human's words instigating it. This Sir Robert person might sound a bit whacky and look like a picture book illustration of minor royalty of the rustic aristocrat variety, but he did seem to have a genuine appreciation for good, well-made locomotives and understand something of what made them valuable; he wasn't just a casual collector accumulating engines for collecting's sake. And he did want to share his engines and give them a decent life and a chance to be useful beyond serving as exhibits…Lammergeier had to give him credit for that too. A lot of people owning someone like the Rocket would have simply put him on permanent display as a means of protecting and preserving him. The fact that any locomotive with an ounce of spirit to them would far rather take their chances and accept the risks of doing actual jobs on a working railway over just sitting there and doing nothing whatsoever wouldn't even occur or matter to them.

When the Earl finally moved on, Lammergeier again found himself experiencing something rare, the wish that he could have socialized with a human—and a stranger at that!—just a little while longer…

His own crew arrived only minutes later; in fact, they ran into Sir Robert en route and the three talked for a bit before parting again. Denise and Christophe both seemed happy to see Lammergeier and to find out that he'd met the Earl all on his lonesome and spoken very nicely to him, as per the Earl's own account.

"There's hope for you yet," Denise quipped, while Christophe did a quick walkabout and checked Lammergeier's cab to make sure all was well. It wasn't long before the other crews, Guy's and Hurricane's, showed up too, along with a gaggle of volunteers, and the second half of Ulfstead's big fall exhibition weekend got underway.

Even the meteorological gods sent their blessings that day, for the wonderful weather held, although it proved a touch more blustery and fair-weather cumulus began to pop up by the time the Canadian excursion trains had come and gone. Lammergeier continued to behave himself, although he still spent far too much time looking anywhere but at his visitors, but his crew enjoyed speaking for him and about him so much that it really didn't matter in the end; he looked splendid either way, mute or chatty, and there were plenty of other locos on display who were happy to oblige anyone wanting to converse with an engine. He did well enough that Denise and Christophe decided to entrust him with the volunteers while they both went off to lunch together and came back to find that he'd done nothing worse than gaze serenely off into the distance while ignoring a couple of questions, and that had been easily excused by the language issue. In short, Lammergeier was a hit, but more in spite of himself rather than due to anything he contributed beyond his good looks. Still, it was enough to earn him an early thumbs-up for any display work he might do in the future.

After lunch, a couple of the fair-weather clouds drifting dreamily along on the breeze seemed to sit up and take notice and began packing on the cumulo-pounds. One eventually fizzled out and dissipated. The other grew at an alarming rate and developed its own white swelling turrets and towers, a great, seething heap of convective activity straining towards the heavens, its base growing black and fuzzy, threatening rain. It sailed straight towards the Ulfstead castle grounds and people began edging closer to any available cover and watched the incipient storm uneasily. All the crews and volunteers tending to the display engines also eyed the cloud and got set to bolt into their respective machines' cabs at the first sign of a raindrop.

The cloud went by, directly overhead. A collective, relieved sigh arose in its wake. It continued to billow upward, its individual elements merging together, its upper parts becoming more angry and dark. Then a gleaming white cap appeared to push out of its top, haloed by a hazy brim, just before a flash of light and a deafening rumble announced its transition into a rare, isolated, full-fledged thunderstorm.

The crowds' sigh turned into happy shouts and applause as the thunderhead, now moving safely away, put on its own fireworks display, igniting internally at intervals with the occasional fork of lightning emerging to stab across its boiling exterior. Not a single bolt reached the surface of the earth. The only thing that did was a clearly defined rain shaft, drenching everything within a narrow corridor as the storm drifted slowly along. Impressive sight though it was, such late-season thunderstorms typically didn't last long and it only took a matter of minutes before it had spent itself and began to dissipate in turn.

Adler's distant and distinct whistle drowned out the last little peal of thunder the storm had to offer. A minute more and he whistled again as he rounded the last bend before Ulfstead station and then chuffed slowly next to the same platform he'd used the day before. His flags this time were too sodden to even flap and the engine and his train were dripping wet, but Adler was all smiles nonetheless and he laughed as he came to a stop in a cloud of wheeshing steam.

"Hallo!" he called over to his friends. "Did you get rained on here?"

"No!" Hurricane called back. "It passed right overhead and we thought for sure it would let loose any second. Then as soon as it went by, it turned into a thunderstorm. I guess it got you instead, huh?"

"Yes! Ve drove straight into it and out again. Quite exciting. Like being in a brief vaterfall. I could hear my passengers cheering!"

"Ha ha! Bet they wouldn't have cheered if you had open coaches!"

"No, zat is very true." Adler tried hard to catch a glimpse of his brother further back and switched back to German to speak to him. "Lammergeier? You still with us? Still all right over there?"

"Still fine, Adler. You might want to worry instead about how to better avoid storms in the future."

"Couldn't be helped and no harm done," Adler insisted. "I have a surprise for you onboard today."

"What? Some of our people?"

"You'll see…"

The same two brakemen from the day before plus Adler's fireman, Dieter, again got out and opened up the coaches. Lammergeier watched, not sure of what to expect. Then he noticed something unusual, a man in civilian dress and not a uniform, climbing carefully down out of Adler's cab. The driver, Erich, followed him, also moving with care; he had a stiff knee with limited motion which made him limp a little, although it didn't hurt. The civilian man seemed a little gimpy too. He was using a cane, yet stood tall and erect, an older, elegant-looking gentleman with a shock of snow-white hair, beautifully dressed. Erich waved his hand at Denise, beckoning her, and she hurried over to the pair at once.

Erich said something and the woman and the older gentleman shook hands. Was this the surprise, the man in the cab? It had to be, Lammergeier thought. The other people getting off Adler's train looked like the usual assortment of upper-class tourists, nothing outstanding about them in any way, and the only way one of them would even be allowed to ride in a working engine's cab was if he or she were somehow affiliated with the railway industry or related to someone who was.

The three humans came over to him. Denise and Erich were smiling and the old gentleman was positively beaming, and now that he'd come closer, Lammergeier could see that the stranger had an uncommonly imperious and intelligent mien about him. It made him suddenly wary. He waited for the humans to make the next move.

"Lammergeier, you're not going to believe this," Denise said, speaking in German, "but this gentleman here knows you, although he's quite certain you don't know him. This is Mister Ewald Moderhack. He used to work as your Controller, in Berlin."

"That's right," the old gentleman said, taking the lead. "Hello, Lammergeier. I was your Controller when you and the other 48s first began working the rails and throughout much of the War. I was the one who assigned you and Habicht to the Berlin-Prague-Vienna run."

"Oh," the engine said faintly. He was at a loss, unsure of how to respond. "I am…surprised," he added, the only thing he could think of to say at the moment.

"Not as surprised as I am," the old Controller said. "Until yesterday, I thought Adler was the only 48 still remaining. I was quite overjoyed when they began handing out our excursion train itineraries aboard the ship and I discovered that you were listed among the engines that were expected to be on display here at Ulfstead. Mister Dornwirth here has been telling me your story. I am so, so happy for you, my boy. It is so good to see you in such fine condition and I understand that you've been reunited with your brother and are stabled together again, is this right?"

"Uh. Correct."

"That's wonderful."

"It _is_ wonderful," Denise reiterated, stepping in. She could see that Lammergeier was overcome and thought it was about time that something threw him for a loop. "They're right next to each other in their roundhouse, sir, side by side. They're a great sight together and our own Controller is very proud to have them as part of his railway. He loves that they're so rare and even more so that they're such good, hard workers."

"Yes, I never had a bit of trouble with any of the 48s…very reliable. All you had to do was tell them what you wanted of them and they'd do it. A shame they only made three of them…" Mister Moderhack paused, smiling, then looked at Denise. "But you're something of a rarity yourself, my dear," he continued on. "You're the very first female engine driver I've ever met, and if you're driving one of our 48s, then I can only assume that you're a good one. Have you managed to inspire any other young ladies yet?"

Denise smiled broadly, well pleased by the man's kind remarks. "I think I have, sir," she replied. "I know a couple of girls, sisters, that intend to apply to our railway's apprentice programme. The only reason they haven't yet is because one of them's still a year too young and they want to apply together. There's also an older local girl I know going for her engineering degree, who's decided to specialize in locomotive design and hopefully come back to work in our steamworks eventually."

"Excellent," Mister Moderhack said. "I wouldn't mind seeing something of the same take place at home, but my country is…in a state of flux right now, I fear. Not the best time to be introducing additional change or new ideas…"

He went silent and stood ruminating while Denise and Erich waited patiently. They could only imagine the kinds of memories the old Controller had to sort through, some pleasant enough, hopefully, but there had be many more he'd just as soon forget. Sure enough, his eyes soon went to Lammergeier again, fixating on the locomotive's lovely red and black livery, the bold white horizontal trim line…all the colours of an older Germany. Painted on the engine who was innocent…

The sight of the living machine whom he'd thought lost forever only a day ago brought him comfort anew and gave voice to his thoughts. "You have no idea how pleased I am to see these two safe and in such a good place," he mused, faltering now and then. "They were such a beautiful sight when pulling into the stations wearing their Olympic regalia, one of the few good, pure memories I have of my time spent working in Berlin under Hitler's rule. The three of them were never meant to be war machines. They were built to showcase our locomotive engineers' expertise at the time and to promote sport and culture. That one over there, Adler, I remember riding his train down to Bayreuth for the Ring festival…that's all they were made for, the 48s, to make people happy…"

His voice trailed off and for a minute the old Controller continued to stand there, immersed in reminiscence as he gazed at Lammergeier with wistful eyes. Then he seemed to come out of it.

"Well! Enough of that," he said. "I must go and look at Stephenson's Rocket now. Seeing him _is_ one of the reasons I took this tour."

"Would you like me to accompany you, Mister Moderhack?" Erich offered. "I could make sure you get a ride behind him, if you like, and maybe get a close look at his cab and controls."

"Yes, thank you, I would like that," the old gentleman said, and off the two of them went, both of them limping a little, but still game and spirited. Denise looked after them fondly.

"That was nice…" she remarked. She glanced up at Lammergeier. "You're being rather quiet. Thinking about the old days?"

"Yes," her engine confessed. He drew a deep breath. Meeting his former Controller had sparked more than memories; he felt torn by all sorts of emotions, some of which he didn't want to experience at all. He kept an eye on the two men as they made their way over to Stephen's platform and watched their eventual meeting with the feisty old engine and how both were allowed to step up into his cab for a while and afterwards were ushered into the favoured front seats in Stephen's first coach. Railway people were a close-knit bunch, no matter what country they hailed from, it seemed.

Lammergeier's introspective mood lasted throughout the span of Adler's tour visit. He didn't even care that he never got the chance to say much to his brother and made little effort to interact with anybody. Just before Adler was due to leave, Mister Moderhack came back with Adler's driver and stopped briefly to make his farewells to the woman still standing by Lammergeier's front axels.

"Goodbye, Missus Doyon," he said formally, shaking hands with her again. "It has been a great pleasure to meet you and your locomotive. The two of you were welcome, delightful surprises and I may well see you again next year."

"That sounds lovely and thank you, sir. I'm already looking forward to it. Will you be coming back via another cruise?"

Mister Moderhack smiled. "Nooo, it'll be something a bit more ambitious, I hope. A quick boat ride across the Channel to England, yes, but after that I should like to travel by rail. I've always wanted to ride behind The Flying Scotsman and with a little luck, I'll be able to make a connection in London."

"Oh gosh, yes! And he runs right over onto Sodor to Vicarstown sometimes nowadays!"

"Exactly. Perhaps you'll even be the one to come pick me up. Or our good Mister Dornwirth here."

"Either of us would be honoured to drive for you, sir," Erich said for both himself and his colleague. "And please don't hesitate to let us know that you're coming. I'm sure our own Controller, Sir Topham Hatt, would love to host you."

"Thank you. I will keep that in mind…"

The old Controller lastly turned to Lammergeier, placed a hand on the edge of his running board, and regarded him for a long, long moment.

"Remember your heritage, be a good boy, and serve these people well," he told the engine. "You've been given a second chance and a tremendous opportunity here. Don't waste it."

"Yes, sir," Lammergeier muttered, averting his eyes. Denise raised an eyebrow. What a strange response. She'd never seen him so subdued. The two men walked away, over to Adler, and he wouldn't even watch them go, just kept staring down at his own buffers, his expression solemn. She wound up wondering whether someone like Mister Moderhack mightn't have severely reprimanded Lammergeier in the past and if that was the reason he seemed so affected by the man's parting words.

Adler left in the midst of another beautiful cloud of steam, his flags, now dried, rippling and flowing again. Lammergeier remained quiet for the remainder of the day. Christophe and Denise both figured that he had a lot to think about and they were quite correct, but not for the reasons they might have imagined. Activities wrapped up earlier than they had the day before and the Knapford engines were fired up and allowed to leave right around suppertime. They returned to their shed in the same order in which they'd last left, Hurricane in the lead, the other two trailing.

Justin and Francois had already finished with their trains and gotten back just before the others arrived. That left only Adler and Henry unaccounted for. Lammergeier began watching for his brother as soon as he was settled in his berth. He wanted to compare notes with him about his weekend experiences and badly wanted to talk about the old Controller's visit, which had left him vaguely disturbed.

The two missing engines suddenly appeared, with Henry in the lead. Both were quickly backed into place in turn and their crews stepped out. For a few minutes, the lot of them, all the humans who crewed the two German engines and Henry and Hurricane, loitered around together right in front of their locos, trading greetings and chat and suggestions about how to best wrap up their evening. Lammergeier, irritated by their cheerful chatter and inclination to linger, was tempted to roll forward and bump a couple of them to make them hurry it up. He wanted them all gone and out of sight and earshot before he spoke to Adler. Finally, the humans seemed to come to some sort of decision and began to drift away en masse. Lammergeier sniffed with disgust, still irritated, and turned his attention to his brother.

To his shock, he found him in motion, moving forward towards the turntable still angled for his berth, even though they were all supposed to be finished for the night. Adler chuffed over the platform slowly and turned onto one of the connecting lines; as soon as he had, Lammergeier got a brief, clear look into his cab and was shocked anew to see Denise at his controls. But this was crazy! What possible business could she have taking Adler off on her own? She wasn't even his regular driver anymore. She just filled in on the odd occasion along with Pierre when the Dornwirths were off and unavailable. Lammergeier looked wildly about. Not a single other engine seemed to notice what was happening or to care that his brother was being effectively hijacked.

His apprehension and confusion finally erupted in the form of a querulous outburst directed at his shed-mates at large. "Vere _ist_ my brother and zat human goink?' he demanded.

There was a long silence. The other locos looked surprised. Several of them glanced at one another. Then Henry exclaimed, "Don't you know?"

Lammergeier was feeling far too anxious to bother choosing his words. "If I know, I don't ask, do I?" he snapped back angrily, a retort which prompted an immediate chill to descend upon the roundhouse. Hurricane glared at him.

"Hey-y-y…" the big tank engine admonished in a low growl.

The Canadian trio just looked disappointed.

"Adi and Denise are going off for some private time," Justin finally said in a heavy tone. "The two of them became good friends back when she was his driver. They still like to talk sometimes."

"Your brother loves zhat woman," Francois added. "She is his confidante as well as his friend. Zey will be back after ze sun sets."

Their helpfulness exhausted, the three blue and black locos fell back to chatting softly amongst themselves in French. Even Henry was starting to look annoyed and Hurricane still looked furious. But Lammergeier saw and heard none of it. He was trying to come to terms with what he'd just been told about Adler. Loved her! Oh, he wouldn't be so stupid as that…would he? And why would he need to confide in any human at all? Adler had him, his own brother!

None of his shed-mates said another word to him for the remainder of the evening. Lammergeier didn't care. He was on tenterhooks as he waited for Adler to return, his machine mind roiling with one crazy imagined explanation for his brother's behaviour after another. He was still waiting and thinking his fevered thoughts when the sun set and while the other engines began drifting off to sleep shortly afterwards.

At last, once it was fully dark, Lammergeier heard the weak slow chuff of an engine moving with very little pressure left in its boiler. Adler's indistinct silhouette soon appeared, heading for the turntable. He backed into his berth bit by bit, his steam almost spent, and halted with relief. Lammergeier, his eyes already closed in pretended slumber, listened intently. He heard a few clicks and a soft thump, then a scuffling sound in front of Adler a moment later—Denise, no doubt, scrambling up between his buffers. Lammergeier cracked an eyelid. Yes, there she was. He could just make out her dark form standing next to Adler's lighter face, her own face very close to his, the both of them speaking very softly together so as not to disturb anyone. Lammergeier strained his hearing to its utmost, desperate to overhear anything at all, but it wasn't until the very end of their brief conversation that he suddenly made out the following unmistakable heartfelt exchange:

 _"Ich liebe dich, meine kleine Lokfuehrerin."_

 _"Ich liebe dich auch, mein stolzer Adler."_

 _"Tschuess…"_

 _"Tschu'…"_

Their farewells made, the little human slipped back down over Adler's buffer beam and vanished off into the night. Lammergeier heard his brother sigh, the deep, soughing sound he typically uttered when done for the day and happy and content. Shortly afterwards, his breathing likewise deepened and he fell asleep.

Lammergeier, by contrast, remained awake for over an hour, far too hyped up and trembling with repressed emotion to even consider sleep.

to be continued...


	6. Report Card

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Six - Report Card

Christophe Pelletier was a man on a mission. Some time ago, while having a casual conversation with Sir Topham Hatt up at the Sodor Steamworks, he'd remarked that Lammergeier was proving to be a bit temperamental on top of being high-spirited and hard-working, and that it'd be important to get him the right sort of full-time crew to continue getting the best out of him. Sir Topham had laughed, commented that it was a shame he already had a full-time job otherwise he'd enjoy taking on Lammergeier himself, then concluded with the suggestion that he'd appreciate it if Christophe would take on the job of finding that perfect crew himself…no hurry, of course. The little engineer, surprised and a little relieved, had promised to do his best. His volunteering to accompany Lammergeier up to Ulfstead to assess his behaviour as a potential tourist engine for himself had only been step one of his search. After that, he'd promised himself to give it a rest for a full month to let Lammergeier show what he was like under routine working conditions, before picking his crew's brains for further insight. Since he already knew Lammergeier's current regular crew, Denise and Pierre, so well, he anticipated that step two would therefore be easy and productive. It also helped that he happened to live with them.

His eventual Lammergeier-report-card meeting took place on an evening when all three of them were scheduled to be off the following day and good spirits and cooperation were therefore somewhat ensured. Christophe hadn't actually heard much about Lammergeier since his Ulfstead debut, from his friends or anyone else. But then they were always pretty busy, the three of them, busy enough that the weeks sometimes seemed to fly by. He knew that the Doyons were still driving both Henry and Lammergeier and seemed to be doing so cheerfully, and that in itself seemed to bode well for the subject of their meeting as Christophe settled himself that night into his favourite seat and regarded his two sources slash witnesses slash snitches.

"Okay! Time to get this interrogation started," Christophe announced from his comfy armchair. "I need to know all about Lammergeier and nothing but Lammergeier and how he's been doing. All the dope, terrific or horrific. Thrill me or alarm me, I don't care which."

"Oh boy," Denise remarked, grinning. "This should be fun." She was already snuggled against her husband's side on the old couch they both favoured and they'd pulled the only other seat in the little living room, another less comfy armchair with a truly hideous flower-patterned fabric surface, close enough to serve as a footrest for Pierre's outstretched legs. He looked just as amused as his wife, his mustache lying askew over his faint smirk.

"You want the good news first or the bad news?" he asked.

"The good news. I'm already in a good mood. Let me hang onto that a while longer."

"All right. That one's easy. As a worker, I don't think we can fault him…can we, hon?"

He looked to Denise, who shook her head in the affirmative.

"He's absolutely right," she agreed. "First class working engine. The way he was during his trial period? Still the same. Works like a fiend. Never complains. Does any job. That's actually one of the most impressive things about him, and Adi too—they've got terrific work ethics. You'd _think_ they'd be a little picky about what jobs they do, given their backgrounds, but they aren't. They're more like Henry than Gordon or James that way. Henry'll do anything too."

"He doesn't shunt, though," Pierre said. "Lammergeier does."

"Say what?"

"Oh, it's true! The local engines at Brendam Docks got way behind once while we were waiting for them to put together a train for us. Lammergeier asked if he could have a shot at shunting it together himself while we waited and I said sure, why not? And you know what? He wasn't half-bad at it! A lot slower than a regular shunter, of course, and I had to be careful backing him over the points, but hey! At least he was willing to try. He'd rather shunt than wait, that's for sure."

"Interesting… And no more sneaky…co-piloting, I presume."

"Never. Not since that day with Sir Topham in the cab. In fact, that's the other great thing about him. He gives himself over one hundred percent when he works and he's sooo quick and responsive, just a real pleasure to handle, even more so than Adi, I have to admit. Lammergeier's just a touch more sensitive to the controls. Never anticipates either. Always waits for his commands. But that's when he's in his work mode. He seems almost like a different loco then sometimes."

"It's when he seems most…normal, too," Pierre continued. "A couple of times I've gone in front of him to uncouple trucks or beds, whatever he's been pushing, and I'll usually give him a pat and a kind word, a "good fellow" or a "well done"…something like that, it's pretty automatic on my part. You look at his face at moments like that and he's always got a little smile and looks pleased to have his work acknowledged, the same as if it were Henry or just about any other engine we've driven. It's the closest I ever see him get to having a really warm expression."

"Yeah, they're few and far between…" sighed Denise.

Both Doyons went silent at that point. Christophe waited. And waited some more. "So…that's it? All the good stuff?" he finally prompted.

They looked at each other. "Um. Pretty much," Denise concluded. "Like Pierre said, you can't really fault him. Not when he's working. But when he's not…"

Christophe couldn't help smiling at the sour frown she suddenly adopted. "Is this my bad news coming up?" he asked, more amused than fearful, given the silly face she was pulling. "Do I need to brace myself?"

"No. More like promise not to get mad at me or laugh—I'm not sure which is more appropriate. Okay! The first bad thing that's happened which you need to know about is that right after we went up to Ulfstead last month, Adi and Lammergeier had a terrific fight and it was sort of about me."

"You?" He sounded doubtful.

"Yeah, me. You remember how when we got back that weekend, you and Pierre and the other guys went on ahead to the Happy Hound and I stayed behind to schmooze with Adler before catching up with you later?"

"Sure." Now he sounded more confused than doubtful.

"Well, I guess Adi never told Lammergeier anything about our little visits and he kind of freaked out when he saw us leaving. The Canucks filled him in none too gently and later on he must've overheard Adi and me saying our good byes, including a couple of, er, affectionate exchanges, and he was NOT happy about it. He did have the decency to wait until he and Adi were alone together in the sheds the next day and then lit into him about how he now knew what was going on between us, and how wrong it was, and how Adi should be saving his love for other engines and not a blasted human, and how he was a complete idiot for trusting me because I was just using him and et cetera et cetera. So, there you go. I almost caused a train derailment, of the emotional kind."

Christophe's response to this final bizarre confession was one of sheer astonishment. And to think he'd thought he'd heard it all!

"But…but he likes you!" he exclaimed.

"I know!" Denise agreed with a pained smile. "And Adi called him on it. Apparently, Lammergeier got red as a beet, shouted back that he needed me to drive him, aaannnd it carried on from there, with many harsh words and lots more yelling involved. The end result's that they're still talking, but only as long as it's strictly business. Anything of a personal nature, including me, is a _verboten_ topic right now."

Christophe was still trying to wrap his head around what he'd just heard. "Good God… This can't be because he's…jealous. Is it?"

The woman flapped her hand in the negative and grinned again.

"Oh please! It couldn't possibly be anything so mundane as that for our dear Mister Lammergeier," she laughed. "No. His beef is with all of us, all us humans. _None_ of us are to be trusted and we're all treacherous and horrid at heart and Adi's a naïve fool for not seeing it."

"Wha-at? Where the holy bejesus is _that_ coming from?" Christophe asked, quite flabbergasted.

"No idea. But you know what? I believe him. I really do. It does explain a few things…"

She looked to Pierre at that point, who gave her a squeeze and said, "We'd better tell him all of it."

"All of it?" Christophe echoed. "Oh oh. Do I want to hear this?"

"Yes you do," Denise asserted. She settled herself more comfortably against Pierre's side, looking rather gleeful. "First, you know how engines can relax their faces when we wash them, so that the surfaces go from hard and protective to yielding and warm, almost like flesh?" she asked.

"Sure. It lets them feel a lot more," Christophe replied, still mystified.

"Well, Lammergeier never relaxes. Never ever. I thought he was just being leery of me at first—even Henry was anxious about letting me handle him initially—but he hasn't changed since the day I first cleaned his face in that French scrapyard. The weird thing is that he does like being groomed. He's proud of his looks, like most of them are, and he always closes his eyes and sighs and seems to appreciate what I do for him. But it's all business with him, like I'm his flipping hairdresser or something. The only difference is that I don't get a tip at the end of it."

Pierre suddenly chuckled. "What's wrong with my eyebrow?" he said.

"Oh cripes!" Denise exclaimed in response to her husband's prodding. "That's another thing about him that's weird. He's the first engine I've ever met who does NOT like being fussed over, not even a little. You know how they all have favourite spots on their faces which they like to have rubbed or scritched or whatever, right? Well, early on, at the end of a wash while drying him, I tried stroking his eyebrows—Adi's fond of that—just to show him a bit of affection and that I wanted to be friends. I got in about three licks before his eyes suddenly popped wide open and he asked, in this really snotty tone, 'What's wrong with my eyebrow? You keep trying to smooth it down. Is something the matter with it?'"

"I thought you were going to slap him," Pierre said, still chortling.

"Well, honestly! What a jerk! Anyway, that was the last time I bothered Mister Lammergeier with any unnecessary personal attention while washing his face. At least I know now why he won't relax for me. He doesn't trust me. He doesn't trust me, and he doesn't respect me. BUT—he needs me to drive him. That's something, I guess."

Christophe was shaking his head. "Actually, that's rather…sad. And yet he does seem to like you…"

Denise flashed back a tight grin. "I think, in light of what Pierre and I know now and have seen for ourselves, that it's far more likely that Lammergeier's just been sucking up to me the whole time the same way he ingratiates himself with everyone he figures he needs to be on good terms with in order to make his life easier. You warned me about that way back on the same day we took him out of the steamworks for the first time, and you were right. We both saw how he deceived Sir Topham Hatt later on."

"Yeah…" Christophe sighed. "I've never seen anything like that before. I still don't know what to think of it. I've seen engines refuse commands before, of course. I've also seen them pretend to be tired or sick to get out of work and a host of other evasions. But those sorts of things are always patently obvious. This wasn't. If Denise and I hadn't already had some familiarity with how he drove and didn't know that Sir Topham was too unpractised to do well with a high-powered engine, Lammergeier might have fooled us too…he was that subtle about it, you should have seen it, Pierre."

"I wish I had."

"He didn't have a bit of remorse about it afterwards, either," Denise added. "No shame, nothing. He thought he'd done something good!"

"Well, he kind of did. Did something good for himself, I have to admit. Sir Topham's still asking about how his 'Lambchop' is doing whenever he sees me," said Christophe.

They all fell silent for a moment. The little engineer was starting to feel somewhat worried. This business with Lammergeier was branching out into territories he didn't like at all.

"Has Adi told you anything more about his brother being so distrustful of people?" he asked Denise. "Has he always been like this or is it new?" Her response this time was hesitant…reluctant, almost. "Look, I know you don't want to betray your friend's confidence," he was quick to add, "but he is a locomotive, not human, and this is rather serious."

Denise sighed. "I know, I'm just…collating in my head, I guess. And yeah, it is new, as far as Adler can tell. He started noticing that Lammergeier didn't like having people around—well, people besides us, I mean—as soon as he moved down to Knapford. He pulls stupid, rude stuff like refusing to talk and gets these looks sometimes… I guess he's blown up a few times besides this last one, too, and Adi can't figure out why, but in retrospect it's always something to do with humans and locos interacting that sets him off. Lammergeier's careful, though. He never says anything to anyone but Adi and he's never overtly hostile, but his attitude's gotten bad enough that the other engines in the shed have noticed even so."

"I'm not surprised," said Christophe. "It's the wrong shed to be living in for an engine who dislikes people." He laughed suddenly, with grim humour. "So what does Lammergeier make of Justin's _je t'aime_ routine when you walk into the yard sometimes?"

Denise grinned back, her own good humour restored. Justin thought nothing of yelling "I love you, my dear!" at her sometimes by way of a greeting, after which the other two Canadians would typically follow up with some variant of "me too!". They even pulled the same stunt with Pierre, although Justin would at least drop the "my dear" when yelling at him…it was all just part of their effusive, lovable personalities. "I imagine he hates it," she said in response to Christophe's query, "but knows better than to say anything. Can you picture what would happen if he did say something? Justin would probably try to psychoanalyze him."

"Might do him good… But this isn't funny, not really. I confess I'm getting concerned here. I've never heard of an engine developing a dislike for the entire human race later on in its life. Being a crank, sure, but not outright distrusting all of us. It's completely contrary to their innate natures."

"Engines can be traumatized, though, right?" Pierre asked. "Maybe something happened to him and he blames people for it."

"Wouldn't matter. Even if he did suffer some trauma that was human-inflicted, he'd only blame any people directly involved, not everybody. Locomotives don't think quite like humans do. It's more cut and dried for them, less complex. And they're far more resilient and forgiving. Adi's a good example. He may have been pretty messed up on a personal level when he got to us, but it never interfered with his ability to work because engines are more instinct-driven, or driven by their innate hard-wired programming, more like, than we are. He also never lost his faith and trust in humans, even though we were the direct cause of all the miseries he suffered, and that's exactly how they're supposed to be, to keep wanting to please us and trusting in us to look after them and tell them what to do, no matter what. It's the only way we can stay safe around such powerful machines while still allowing them a degree of free will."

"It can fail sometimes, though, their programming…can't it?" said Denise.

"Yes, but it's very rare. I've still only ever seen it those two times, the one who woke up crazy right in the shop and that loco we got in from the States who tried to kill the fitter. That's not a bad record given that I've dealt with thousands of engines over the years. The big question now is, where does Lammergeier fit into the spectrum? Is he also just messed up and are his feelings transitory, or is something more serious going on with him?"

The woman had started looking down at her lap. Pierre lifted the hand on the arm he had around her and started twiddling with a bit of her hair, distracting himself. Neither of them looked happy.

"You're the ones who know him best by now," Christophe said, more quietly. "Thoughts?"

Pierre spoke first, although he was clearly reluctant. "He's not a mean engine. He always works hard for us and seems to like doing so. I think, under normal circumstances, he's safe enough…"

"But?" He looked from one to the other of them. "Please. I need to know."

"Yeah…okay," Denise, still looking quite unhappy, finally said. "You're right. You should know. The bad thing about Lammergeier right now is that I'm pretty sure if someone ever mistreated him or abused him or even just lost their temper and smacked him for no reason, he might…I suspect…retaliate. I'm sorry, but I really think he would. I've even thought about whether he's safe for me to get up on a few times…he just gets so impatient sometimes and then he gets these nasty expressions…"

"Like a gardener discovering a fresh rat hole under his garden shed," Pierre expanded. "Not a murderous look or even all that angry, just cold and calculating, like he's thinking about whether he should set some traps or get some poison…that kind of a look."

"It's never directed at his passengers if he's pulling coaches or anything like that and he won't do it when we're right there with him. But people who are holding him up or that he thinks are interfering with him…he hates that. We've caught him staring at strangers or station workers a few times when he thought we couldn't see his face and it always looked like he wished they would just vanish off the face of the Earth, permanently…" She trailed off, tried her best to shrug within her husband's comforting hug. "Sorry," she said again.

"No no, this is what I need to hear," Christophe assured her. He pulled thoughtfully at his chin, pursing his lips. "And now that I have, the other big question becomes...what to do about turning his attitude around? You two are the big problem engine enthusiasts. What would you do with a loco like Lammergeier?"

"Put him to work full-time," said Pierre at once. "That's when he's at his best."

"Yeah, work him hard all day, every day," Denise chimed in. "And when you put him away in the evenings and he's good and tired, take advantage of that to give him lots of attention, groom him well, get him all polished up and shining, lots of praise and petting, whatever he'll allow. I think once he gets his own crew and stays occupied all day and they're persistent about always being kind to him and making sure he's comfortable and tended to when he rests, that he might well start coming around and thinking humans aren't so bad after all. Right now he's got way too much time to think about how we're all just treacherous scum who'll let him down in the end, or whatever nutty beliefs he has when he thinks about us. It's not good for that engine to just work half-days. I think it makes him feel neglected, and he doesn't deal well with that."

She paused for a few moments to reconsider what she'd just said and then added, "Or bring in a couple of mean old Prussian railroaders to take charge and kick his tender halfway into his smokebox…I dunno…" A chuckle escaped her. "Okay, I kid. I still think kindness is the way to go. And lots of work. He's not an engine who can just sit idle and be happy about it."

"And whoever you get will have to be patient," said Pierre. "A crew that really loves engines. That'll be more important than actual experience or ability with this one."

"I hear you," Christophe replied, nodding and tugging at his chin again. He eyed his friends, his expression becoming speculative. "I don't suppose you two would consider—"

"No," the other man interrupted at once, his voice firm. "Henry comes first. He's like our son."

"Okay okay…it was worth a shot. Could the two of you at least hang on for a while yet, as is? It's going to take me some time to look at everybody on the spares list."

"Take as long as you need. Pierre and I actually like working with two engines…adds variety. We wouldn't mind keeping Lammergeier on forever if he were thriving, but…he's not. He needs more work. And his own crew, all to himself."

"Sure. Don't worry, I'll get someone good."

"I hope so…" With the serious part of their meeting winding down and her objective opinions voiced, Denise found herself getting a little emotional again. "You guys are probably going to laugh at me," she said, "but I feel bad for him…Lammergeier, I mean. There's something…needy about him. Needy and sad. He's not doing well at making friends. I don't think he even has any except for Adi, and Adi's all but fed up with him right now. It's like there's something eating at him all the time, getting in his way. And he won't confide in anybody…it's really frustrating."

Christophe sighed. "I know…and you'll notice I'm not laughing, not at all. It is a puzzle, what's going on with this one. And thanks for being frank about it. It'll help me in coming up with a solution."

"I'm glad you think there is one," said Pierre.

"Oh! There always is. It just takes a bit of work sometimes. Now, who's up for supper over at the Happy Hound? My treat? I'm feeling the need to drown my responsibilities for a while and I'm guessing that you're no more interested in cooking tonight and cleaning up afterwards than I am…am I right?"

"One hundred percent right," Pierre agreed, sounding instantly cheerful.

"No argument here," his wife chipped in, starting to uncurl herself. She straightened out fully, got up off the couch, and put out her hand to help Pierre. "Hey! Do you think the Hound's got any lamb or mutton on the menu? I feel like eating some lamb chops now in honour of you-know-who."

"Mean, Denise…"

Still chuckling, the three friends got their coats and Christophe checked through his wallet to make sure he had enough money on hand. Afterwards, they all left together, to enjoy a late meal at their favourite tavern and forget all about directing the lives and fates of temperamental locomotives, at least for a little while.

to be continued...


	7. Strange Hands

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Seven - Strange Hands

Lammergeier was feeling very sorry for himself. For the third morning in a row, every other engine in the shed had gone off to work and left him all alone. And while Lammergeier's relationships with all his shed-mates were not the best these days, they still provided company and their conversations made for a soothing sort of white noise, even when he didn't take part and talk himself. The only things Lammergeier ever heard in the background when he was left on his own was the ringing and rumbling of shunting taking place in the nearby Knapford station yard and the whistles of fellow engines coming and going from the platforms, all of whom he knew and could identify by now. At times, it sounded like every other tender engine on the whole of Sodor was out there, passing through Knapford and going about their jobs, while he was left behind to do nothing but stare at the nearby outbuildings across the way and watch the frost slowly melt off their rooves as the noon hour approached. If he was really lucky, there'd be an icicle left over from the day before, which would eventually melt enough to crack off and crash down onto the ground beneath. Nobody had gotten hit yet by these occasional aerial assaults, but Lammergeier still had hope.

The worst part about being left on his own was that it gave him plenty of time to mentally replay his recent argument with Adler in a vain attempt to understand how it had gone so wrong. Lammergeier had always thought his brother to be an intelligent and sensible engine. He'd expected him to be defensive at first, angry even, when he'd tried to warn him about the follies of becoming too attached to the humans, but after that he should have come around and heeded Lammergeier's advice or at least promised to think over what he'd been told. Instead, Adler had gone off on him, his own long-buried temper emerging at last to lend fuel to his assertion that he had no idea of what Lammergeier was going on about and what's more, that he had no business trying to tell Adler whom he should or shouldn't be befriending, let along loving. It had devolved steadily after that with final accusations of craziness and willful stupidity hurled back and forth until both engines had been left exhausted and badly hurt. Worst of all was Lammergeier's growing suspicion that Adler lacked the mental acuity to even fully comprehend his warnings—they all seemed oblivious to the truth or in a state of serious denial, every single one of them—and that was something he dreaded, the thought that there was no helping his brother or any of the others.

As usual, Lammergeier's solitary emotional turmoil soon proved so draining that he became tired enough to seek some solace in a nap. Sleep also helped pass the time until his crew came for him after lunch. Despite all his wariness and the care he took when interacting with the humans, he did still feel a certain genuine gratitude towards the Doyons for continuing to find work for him to do almost every single afternoon and sometimes on into the evening. It went a long way to keeping him sane these days. He just wished he could think of some way to keep Denise away from his brother, now that he knew how smitten he was with her, without incurring her disfavour or losing her services for himself.

He closed his eyes, willing himself into light torpor. Real sleep was better, but he wasn't quite _that_ tired, plus which he—

"Wakey wakey, Lammergeier!"

Oh no… He knew that voice. Not that annoying Christophe person! For a few seconds more, Lammergeier hung onto his pretense of being fast asleep, then something occurred to him that had him slowly cracking his eyelids apart. Yes, there the man was, standing right on the track in front of him, wearing a railway worker's uniform, not his working engineer's outfit. The 48 blinked a few times, as if coming slowly awake.

"Well, about time," Christophe said. "Good morning!"

Lammergeier looked him over. "Are you and Denise going to take me out?" he asked hopefully in French, even though Christophe was speaking English.

"I am. Not Denise."

He motioned at someone off by the engine's back end, and a moment later, another man he'd never seen before walked into Lammergeier's field of vision. In general shape and make, he looked exactly like Pierre, a tall man with broad shoulders and glossy black hair and eyes. The only real differences were that he had no hair on his face and that his skin was dark brown. He stopped next to Christophe and smiled kindly at the locomotive.

"Lammergeier, this is Mister Surendra Thakur. He's going to be your new fireman."

"Hi," said Surendra. He added a little wave of greeting, still smiling.

"So, good news, eh? You've finally got your own crew! Me and Surendra. No more lazing around the roundhouse every morning for you, old boy!"

Lammergeier had been fighting— _something_ —all the while the humans were making their introductions and this last rather belittling remark (in his estimation) eroded away the last of his usual caution. "You don't know how to drive me!" he flung back at Christophe without thinking, still speaking French.

"Au contraire and English please, my rude iron friend. I've driven Adi quite a bit and we get on fine together. He's a 48. You're a 48. It stands to reason that we'll suit each other just fine as well."

"Don't you already have a job?" Lammergeier persisted, starting to sound a little frantic, ignoring Christophe's request to change languages.

"Yes, and now I have an additional job. Don't worry. If I'm needed up at the steamworks during the day, Denise'll be by to fill in, so you'll still get to see her from time to time. But in the meantime, we're it. Count yourself lucky and enjoy."

He made another gesture at Surendra and the two men went back to the loco's cab without another word. Lammergeier still felt a little stunned and he would have been furious had he known how close his new crew had just come to laughing aloud at his consternation. Yes, he'd wanted to get out of the sheds and onto the rails, but not like this! Why did it have to be Christophe, why him? Lammergeier calmed down some as the men began setting his fire and doing their checks, and upon reflection, decided that he'd better swallow the remainder of his protests. The new fireman was an unknown element, but Christophe…he still held far too much sway when it came to any of the foreign engines, including Lammergeier himself. It wouldn't do to antagonize him too much. A negative assessment from him could mean real trouble for an engine and Lammergeier couldn't afford any more negativity in his life just now.

And so, Lammergeier sat there in his berth, silent and sullen, while he waited for his steam to come up. He could hear the men talking together in his cab and began eavesdropping. Christophe was telling the fireman something about how hot his firebox burned when he was working at high pressures and how quickly his coal would catch when tossed in at such times. Apparently, Pierre had shoveled in too much once when they'd been running Adler up for his first speed trial way back when and had just about sent him into orbit and blown his safety valve…the coal had ignited in mid-air, he'd sworn after the fact. The new fireman laughed at that and promised he'd remember his colleague's miscalculation and be careful. Lammergeier, despite his determination to be cool and aloof, was also amused. He was picturing Adler's face, flushed and overheated, as his safety valve popped, his probable dismay as he must've wondered if the people aboard even knew what they were doing. Oh yes, it would be fun to tease him with this new little factoid. Then Lammergeier remembered that Adler was currently mad at him and wouldn't tolerate any teasing for a long, long time. The big 48 sighed a little, his sullenness turned aloofness shifting over again into simple unhappiness. He hated being at odds with his brother, although he still felt himself to have been in the right.

When his new crew got ready to take him out, Lammergeier braced himself for some rough handling, but needn't have worried; Christophe knew just how to apply his steam for a silky-smooth start, and Lammergeier could tell almost at once that there was a wealth of experience behind the new hands working his controls. It was a disconcerting discovery. The engine knew he'd have a hard time slipping anything past such a driver. Nonetheless, he couldn't help trying, and as soon as they'd gotten out onto the lines, attempted to speed up a little, ever so slightly, beyond what was being asked of him…

"Lammergeier! Stop pulling!"

" _Je ne suis pas!_ "

"Yes, you are! I can tell. Cut it out! And speak English from now on when Surendra is present. He doesn't understand French. I don't want to have to remind you about this again."

The engine said nothing more and the throttle went slack again in Christophe's hand. The two men exchanged grins. Surendra was impressed. This was exactly what Christophe had warned him would happen. The little engineer gave it another minute to let the reprimand sink in, then addressed his loco again.

"Lammergeier," he said, his tone now much friendlier, "the reason I don't want you speeding up and wasting your strength is because we've got a really big delivery of slate to bring down to Brendam today. You'll be alternating with Hurricane, bringing down a load while Hurricane brings back the empties and so forth. Hurricane's driver, Lorne, and I told Sir Topham that we should be able to handle the job ourselves and get it done by three or four this afternoon…if not, and we fall behind, Adi'll be available to help pick up the slack after lunchtime. So that's the plan right now, with us starting off from the quarry and Hurricane'll be picking up some of the trucks left at the docks. That's the kind of job you like, right? Moving lots of heavy trains? Lots of stupid trucks to boss around?"

Lammergeier still said nothing and Christophe didn't really expect him to. He also didn't _need_ him to for he'd sensed that the engine had just undergone an attitudinal shift just as surely as if he'd begun chuffing up an incline…just that same feeling of having been uplifted. The man expected that Lammergeier would remain miffed for some time yet about having been caught out trying to secretly take charge and being told to speak English, but as long as he worked well, Christophe didn't really care if his engine was annoyed with him. He always valued respect and obedience a good deal more from his locomotives over whether they liked him anyway, and he knew that Surendra, though gentle and kind-hearted, felt much the same way.

By the time they reached Gordon's Hill en route to the Blue Mountain slate quarry, Christophe was pleased enough with Lammergeier's behaviour to allow him a bit of a run; the engine, surprised, hesitated a few seconds before stretching out and charging up the long slope. Surendra was again impressed, this time by the engine's swift acceleration. "He's quick," he remarked.

"Yup. A lot of tractive power in this one for the size of him…overpowered, really. He skips right along without a train behind." He eased the throttle back again as soon as they crested the hill. "Well, enough of that. It wouldn't do to derail on our first day out…would it, Lammergeier?"

The engine didn't reply, in part because he was too busy trying to sort out his feelings. He was still ticked off over having been scolded, yet then Christophe had turned around and given him free rein for a blissful brief interlude after all. And now the request to slow right down after his burst of speed, not that he had any choice but to obey, given the curve the track took at the base of the hill…was this another test, another way for his new driver to assert his authority? Or was he just showing off his paces to the new fireman? Lammergeier didn't know, and not knowing made him uneasy.

He consoled himself by concentrating on what Christophe had told him about his day's work. It was quite true that he liked moving heavy goods. And moving slate was very heavy work indeed, plus which he liked going up to the quarry and seeing all the cheerful little engines there. He'd never even seen narrow gauge locos before coming to Sodor. Victor, who worked and resided at the Sodor Steamworks, had been the first such engine he'd met, and Lammergeier had been surprised to discover that he was an immigrant to the Island, just like himself. Unfortunately, the only language they had in common was English, and Lammergeier's grasp of it had not been very good yet during his restoration stay, otherwise he would have liked to have spoken more with the Cuban native. The little engines up at the quarry, on the other hand…they were local, he supposed, but VERY local, meaning that some of them spoke English with such strong dialects that he still had difficulty understanding them. The one thing they all managed to convey even so and which pleased him was that they all seemed to rather admire him for doing freight work at all. He didn't realize that to the quarry locos he looked on the surface like the quintessential stuck-up passenger engine and that they liked him because he didn't think that delivering their goods was beneath him, unlike a couple of snooty blue and red individuals they could think of.

There was one other great thing about him, and his brother too, the quarry engines thought; all the trucks were terrified of him. The silly trucks were convinced that Lammergeier and Adler were Nazis, not that they knew exactly what Nazis were, just that they came from Germany and were incredibly mean and would just as soon kill you as look at you if you gave them any grief or just drew their attention in any way. Adler was actually quite decent to the trucks, but Lammergeier sometimes glared at them and thus their terror continued. The two 48s never had the slightest problem with their trains as a result and the quarry engines weren't about to blow the whistle. (Again, sorry.) The fact was that he resident locos quite enjoyed seeing the trucks half-petrified with fear, given how irritating they could sometimes be during everyday operations.

Hurricane was the other engine that they liked to see come up to take slate or stone trains because he likewise scared the bejeezes out of the troublesome trucks. In Hurricane's case, it was more than just a bad reputation. He had zero patience with trucks and working stock of all sorts and actually did have a bit of a mean streak, which he'd unleash on them at the slightest provocation. Any truck that dared give him any lip, even in jest, very quickly found themselves a bashed truck, and Hurricane bashed _hard_. A train of giggly goods haulers which Thomas had once tried to take to a big yard over on the Mainland, but who'd come under the untender care of Hurricane instead, could attest to that.

The quarry engines had already been working hard since dawn to get every available truck onsite loaded up for one of their biggest orders of the year and were quite delighted when they first saw who'd been assigned to deliver the valuable cut stone to Brendam Docks.

"Hellooo!" called the little red engine named Skarloey. "Glad to see you, Lambchop."

"Will y' be with us all day?" asked the other little red engine, who was called Rheneas. Or perhaps he had that reversed, thought Lammergeier…he had trouble keeping the two of them straight.

"Hallo back, and _ja_ , I work here all day," Lammergeier replied agreeably. "Hurricane is work too. He vill come soon from ze docks _mit_ empty trucks."

"Perfect," yet another of the small narrow gauge locos remarked, this one green. "That'll give us a bit of a break in the meantime."

They all watched as the big 48 was nimbly reversed and began backing up to the waiting string of filled trucks, all of whom had gone quite pallid and wide-eyed at the mere sight of Lammergeier. Surendra climbed down, coupled his loco up, and walked back, counting off half of what was available to make up their first train. Their total load would amount to quite a bit less than what he understood Lammergeier could reasonably manage under normal circumstances, but they needed to leave something for Hurricane and were going for a degree of speed today, Christophe had told him. There was also the brake van to consider and add, being manned by a cheerful rear guard named Dafydd. An international grab bag of names today, Christophe couldn't help thinking with amusement as he met his new guard and shook his hand. Given his own name and that of Surendra, Lammergeier and now this Dafydd fellow, they'd be a nightmare crew to introduce for anyone with pronunciation issues.

They started off on their first run. It was crisp and frigid that morning and most of the frost had already been burnt off the rails by the bright sunshine, which still had a little residual strength to it. Although the heavier snowfalls were still to come, fall had set in with a vengeance right after Lammergeier's exhibition weekend at Ulfstead and it had turned cold and blustery, with many days of cloudy, turbulent skies that often sent down spits of rain or ice pellets. The excursion trains with their warm enclosed weathertight coaches had still run, but the exhibition and estate tour offerings at Sir Robert Norramby's railway museum had immediately been scaled back, for no one could enjoy wandering about and looking at locos out in the open with icy-cold precipitation hammering down on their heads and harsh, whipping winds yanking at their clothing. Lammergeier and the other Knapford engines hadn't been put on display since and now even the tourist trains were about to finish up their season for the year. It did free them all up for more general work, though, such as Lammergeier's current job.

Lammergeier didn't mind the cold and neither did his cold-hardy Canadian driver and the man in the brake van. Surendra, though…Surendra was appreciating Lammergeier's enclosed cab and his nice hot fire at the moment. He was far more used to dealing with monsoons and tropical heat and had never even seen snow before coming to Sodor just a few short months ago.

About halfway through their trip and right on schedule, they saw Hurricane approaching on the other track with his train of empties and his own brake van. The two engines exchanged whistles. Even though Lammergeier still didn't think too much of Hurricane as an individual and considered him coarse, he knew that the big tank engine was just as industrious as himself and could be counted on to pull his share and was reliable. He preferred working with Hurricane more than with some of the other tender engines he knew as a result.

Once they'd arrived at Brendam Docks, Lammergeier's first train was quickly broken down and his trucks shunted aside, and the dockyard's diesel shunter, Salty, stepped in to help reassemble the 48's new train. The ship that was to take the delivery of slate was already present for loading and the plan was to get a continuous run of exchanges going for the remainder of the day. All went well with no delays or difficulties and Lammergeier was soon on his way again, travelling a good bit faster than before now that he had so much less weight behind. His much-improved behaviour, especially his ready compliance and acceptance of his new driver's orders ever since leaving the Blue Mountain Quarry, was making Christophe smile. It was just as Denise had maintained. Once out on the rails and on the job and confident in his crew's abilities and handling, Lammergeier became docile and obedient, a welcome change from his first few minutes en route that morning.

The narrow gauge engines already had a new loaded train ready for him when Lammergeier chuffed in with his empties and it only took a short while longer for him to replenish his water and coal stores, pick up the loaded trucks and get his brake van reattached, and be off again. He was feeling very good and glad to be working so well, and had to admit to himself that even if the crew in his cab was not the one he wanted, they were doing a fine job so far and he had nothing whatsoever to complain about. The new fireman was obviously experienced and had quickly determined what Lammergeier needed to do his very best, and Christophe…well, his driving so far seemed to be right up there on par with his engineering and fitting skills, which the engine found quite surprising, albeit a welcome surprise.

Unbeknownst to Lammergeier, Christophe and Lorne Paulson, who drove Hurricane, had already decided the day before that they'd both take a half-hour break for lunch at whatever end of their delivery run they happened to be closest to when the noon hour rolled around. For the 48 and his crew that meant they later wound up taking their break while pulled over in a siding right on one of the Brendam wharfs next to the water. The men sat on a couple of small crates next to their engine's leading axels so he could look down and see them and they could see him while they unpacked their meals and unscrewed their thermoses to pour out the first of several cups of good hot sweetened tea or coffee. They were all happy campers, all except for Lammergeier. The engine had been on a roll and was feeling rather annoyed that he'd been pulled over for what in his opinion was an unnecessary stop.

To add to his displeasure, all Christophe had to do was take one look at his face to know exactly what was up with him. He _hated_ when that happened!

"Lammergeier," the man said to his engine, "I know you feel fine right now and didn't want to stop, but trust me, you'll appreciate this rest later on this afternoon. Plus which we humans need to fuel up too. Just take it easy and relax."

"Yes, and you're not used to working full days either," added Surendra, then looked at Christophe to be sure. "Is he?"

"Nope, you're right. Afternoons only for a while now." He eyed his fireman's heavy coat. "You sure you're warm enough? You look the way I'd dress for a blizzard."

Surendra grinned, a little sheepishly. "This cold is going to take some getting used to," he admitted.

"Cold! This ain't cold," Dafydd the brake guard snorted. "Wait'll we get our first decent snowfall and it gets cold enough to stay. That's when it's cold. At least you gotta nice hot fire to warm you up. Bet you're kinda glad you're a fireman right now."

"Very glad," Surendra agreed.

They tucked into their lunches. When Surendra opened one of his containers, the other two went instantly alert, like two setter dogs scenting a pheasant.

"Is that curry?" asked Christophe. "Oh, it smells good."

"Yeah, I loves me a good curry," added Dafydd, and Surendra capitulated with a grin and handed his container over so his two colleagues could each try a few spoonfuls. Their verdict was very positive.

"Mm, that's nice," Christophe opined. "Did you make that yourself?"

"Yes I did."

"You're a good cook." The little engineer slash driver sorted through his own lunch bag. "I'd like to give you one of my little tourtieres, but I'm guessing that you don't eat pork or beef, do you?"

"No, you're quite right, my friend. I do not eat anything that wore fur or feathers."

"What about milk and stuff? An' eggs?" asked Dafydd. "You gotta like eggs."

"Those are fine," Surendra confirmed, happy that his new friends were being both curious and tolerant. "Animal products are fine."

"Here, try this."

The brake guard handed over a piece of hard yellow cheese. Surendra's eyes opened wide with surprise at the first mouthful.

"Oh. Very good! What do you call this?"

"That's sharp cheddar, off a farm just down the road from me. It's good you'll eat cheese cause they make lotsa terrific ones right here on Sodor."

"I'll vouch for that," said Christophe. "The local varieties are all excellent. A cheese connoisseur's dream, really." He eyed his new fireman with pleasure. "I don't suppose you'll eat fish."

"Ah, but I do! I like to eat fish, shellfish, all that cold-blooded fare. It's only the mammals and birds I avoid."

"Gotcha. Do you like to fish yourself, Surendra? Are you an angler?"

"Yes I am."

"Fly fishing? Other?"

"Definitely other. A worm on a hook or lures are ambitious enough for me."

"That's great!" Christophe enthused. "I like to fish too, and the couple I live with are keen on it as well. I guess you could say we're a real fishing household. Once it gets warm again, come spring, we'll have to get you to keep a rod and some tackle in your locker at the Knapford sheds. There are tons of great spots to fish right up next to the tracks, and if we get jobs with a couple of hours off between them, we can have a go at catching our lunch and maybe a few extras to take home. I've still got a whole bunch of locomotive cookware I brought over from Canada, too, so if we're lucky and they're biting, we could cook up a meal right on the spot in Lammergeier's firebox."

The engine in question had been listening in to the men's chat and finding it so deathly dull that he'd been half-asleep, but that last comment pierced through his idleness like a red-hot poker.

"Vhat!" he cried, jolting wide awake.

Christophe looked up at him, amused.

"Don't they do that in Germany, Lammergeier?"

" _Nein! N-non!_ No!" He was still so flustered that he had to run through his entire repertoire of languages before he hit on the one response that wouldn't earn him another reprimand. His driver, impressed, thought he deserved an A plus for effort.

"Well, they're missing out then. There's nothing nicer than a couple of fresh seasoned trout fillets baked in a firebox."

"It stink!" the 48 insisted.

"Oh, don't be silly. All you'd smell is the sheer deliciousness, if it's done right. I've cooked up a lot of great fresh-caught or fresh-shot meals thanks to the engines I used to drive back in Canada, especially on the Northern routes. Canada's a vast country. A good locomotive's more than just a machine to pull trains there. On the longer runs, they become temporary lodgings sometimes. Surendra, I'm guessing you know a bit of what I mean. India's a pretty big country too, isn't it?"

"That it is," he said, "and I confess I've warmed up my share of meals and boiled a lot of tea-water without leaving my engines' cabs too. It was often safer than risking a campfire in a wooded area."

"Exactly. So wipe that look of disgust off your face, Lammergeier. It could be a safety issue. You don't want us taking the risk of cooking our lunch on an open fire next to the tracks and setting the whole Island ablaze, now do you?"

Christophe was just kidding around by this point and the other two men were smirking right along, but Lammergeier continued to look appalled. He managed to stay offended all through the remainder of their lunch break and swore to himself that he'd find out if there wasn't some railway regulation already in place that would prevent his crazy new crew from trying to turn him into a bakery on wheels.

When they were all ready to go with a fresh train of empties attached, Lammergeier was so eager to get back to work that he barged ahead, but checked himself almost immediately before anyone got too rattled. Christophe was willing to overlook his lapse and said nothing. He thought it a good sign that the engine had restrained himself voluntarily.

Their runs resumed without incident and it all went so smoothly and with such good coordination at both ends that there was no need whatsoever to even consider bringing in any help that day. It wasn't even midafternoon before Lammergeier and his crew found themselves bringing the very last load, a mere four more trucks' worth, down to the docks. They arrived precisely at ten minutes to three, early enough that Christophe decided that they might as well wait until their trucks were unloaded and then add them to their last train of empties. He knew that the folks at the quarry would be happy to get all their trucks back that same day instead of having to remember to retrieve a few last stragglers left behind sometime down the road.

Lammergeier had no trouble pulling the extra long train once they got back at it and the little engines and their crews at the Blue Mountain Quarry were indeed happy to see every last one of their trucks brought back, safe and sound and still (refreshingly!) subdued. It had been a good bit of work. Lammergeier and his new crew departed amidst many thanks and much goodwill and made their way home still ahead of schedule and with all concerned feeling pretty good about themselves. The engine was also happier than usual to return to his roundhouse and his own cozy berth. He was just starting to feel the first twinges of fatigue as he approached Knapford and had to admit to himself that it was a good thing that Christophe had enforced a noontime break after all.

Hurricane had gotten in earlier and had already been done up by his crew for the night and so had Adler and Guy; all three greeted Lammergeier cordially as he backed in. The temperature had already dipped below freezing and because of that the 48's own crew opted not to wash him down, but they did want to at least get the day's dust off his face and polish up his trim and cab. Christophe was also curious to see how Lammergeier would react to his touch. Like Denise, he believed that how an engine first responded to having his face cleaned by a new person was a pretty good barometer of their attitude towards human and engine interactions in general. He found it hard to believe that Lammergeier wouldn't trust Denise, who was about the kindest and least threatening railway worker he'd ever known.

Lammergeier gave Christophe a single startled glance when the man first climbed up with his buckets of hot water and cleaning implements, then stared stonily ahead. He said nothing while Christophe washed him and kept his eyes open the entire time aside from when he needed to close them to have his eyelids wiped. And it was true—he never relaxed. The amorphous alloy beneath Christophe's hands remained as firm and unyielding as hard rubber, the same texture their faces typically maintained when engines were on the move and needed protecting from flying insects or other debris or anytime they were simply working under conditions that might prove hazardous. Lammergeier should feel perfectly safe in his berth, secure enough to allow his literal safeguards down, yet for some reason he would not. Not while Christophe was there and touching him, he wouldn't.

It was a rather sad discovery, but Lammergeier had behaved better than expected in so many other ways that Christophe just shrugged it off for now and tried not to take it personally. As long as the engine didn't resist or act up when being groomed, it didn't matter anyway. He finished off by giving the gold bands encircling Lammergeier's boiler and his nameplate a quick wipe, then climbed down again to give Surendra a hand with cleaning up his cab. It was their last task before wishing their engine well for the night and leaving. The big 48 watched the men go, his expression suggesting relief. He would have been happier had they just gone and left him in peace as soon as they'd arrived.

Adler had also been waiting for the humans to leave so he could speak more intimately with his brother. "So?" he asked in German as soon as he could. "How did it go? Do you like your new crew?"

Lammergeier eyed the engine next to him with sudden suspicion.

"Did you know they were going to become my crew?" he demanded. "Christophe and that-that other man?" He couldn't remember the other man's name and it made him even more irritable.

"Mister Pelletier and Mister Thakur both joined my own crew a couple of days last week to get in some practice, so yes, I did know," Adler replied easily, too easily for Lammergeier's taste.

"You should have told me."

"I couldn't. They asked me not to tell you."

"Who cares? You should have warned me anyway!" Lammergeier snapped back, and Adler regarded him helplessly. How to even respond to something like that?

"They asked me not to," Adler reiterated, "and besides, I hardly see why you needed warning. They're both very nice and very good drivers. And Mister Pelletier's an engineer on top of being a driver. I should think you'd be thrilled to have so much experience at your beck and call."

"Oh, leave me alone," his brother moaned and fell into one of his patented sulks.

So ended Lammergeier's first day as a full-fledged working engine with his very own crew.

to be continued...


	8. Winter Woes

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Eight - Winter Woes

An arctic air mass slipped down and settled in directly over Sodor and winter began in earnest. It turned very cold, cold enough to finally freeze over the larger lakes and thicken the ice on the ponds enough for skating. The snow, however, held off aside from a few little dustings from passing systems. The skiers and sledders were unhappy about that, but the engines were pleased. Snow made the tracks tricky and slippery and most of the ones who routinely wore snowplows in season didn't like wearing them one bit.

Lammergeier was unhappy too, although it had nothing to do with the weather. He just didn't care much for his new crew. He especially did not care for Christophe, who was still too sneaky and who saw far too much when he looked at him. Lammergeier dealt with his new situation by retreating back to the way he'd interacted with his crews back in Berlin, which was to say, not at all unless it involved his work. He was polite, spoke only when spoken to, did as he was told without complaint or comment…behaved in short like every good German engine built for use during the reign of the Third Reich had been expected to behave. His new crew appeared to respect his decision to remain aloof and didn't try to push themselves on him, which was a relief, but he could tell that they were disappointed with him too and that stung sometimes, a little. Adler seemed disappointed with him as well—he could feel his brother's gaze on him, watching with disapproval at times when he wordlessly tolerated Christophe's tidying up his face—and that stung even worse. But then Adler just didn't know any better. He thought the little human engineer was their friend.

Lammergeier still wasn't sure what to think of his new fireman either. Christophe had quite quickly begun getting him to drive a bit every afternoon when the tracks weren't too icy and the engine had been dismayed to discover that he was just as competent and experienced as his main driver; he hadn't even tried slipping any piloting tricks past his fireman as a result. And he was weird. Once he'd gotten Lammergeier's fire going well in the mornings, Surendra would on occasion climb up on the engine's running board and carefully place his gloved hands on the metal cladding over his boiler and then just stand there as he heated up. Sometimes he leaned so close that Lammergeier could even feel the human's breath on him, a sensation he didn't like at all if only because it seemed so inexplicable. It only began to make sense on the day that Christophe, who was on the ground lubricating some of Lammergeier's undercarriage, spotted Surendra doing his thing on the running board just above him and called up in a playful tone, "So? Does he smell like roses or sour lemons?"

"Neither," his fireman had replied, smiling. "Coal smoke. Varnish. Hot oil… I like to listen to him. I love hearing him come to life."

At which point Lammergeier had thought, what the—! I'm always alive, _du Vollidiot!_ It was a sad and mean-spirited response on the engine's part. He just couldn't bring himself to acknowledge let alone accept the man's simple awe and reverence for his being. But Christophe understood. He just smiled back and kept on with his task of ensuring that Lammergeier's wheels and rods continued to operate without the slightest hitch. It was important to him that his engine looked good and even more so, that he functioned as well as possible.

Even if Lammergeier didn't much appreciate his new crew, the two men appreciated each other. In Surendra, Christophe found not only a worthy colleague, but a friend and a soulmate of sorts as well. The two of them were equally fascinated by living locomotives. Despite being born and growing up on virtual opposite sides of the globe, they'd both fallen under the spell of the beasts of the rails as boys at almost the same age and had never been able to be away from them for long. They were soon exchanging stories of their experiences with the engines and Christophe began sharing some of the research and observations he'd collected over the years.

The Doyons had likewise recognized in Surendra a kindred soul the very first time Christophe brought him home and had joined their engineer friend in afterwards extending an open invitation to him to visit again anytime. The personable Indian man was delighted to have found even more like-minded fellow railroaders and was soon a frequent guest in their little cottage, where he could sit and talk about locomotives and nothing but locomotives all evening long without anyone once rolling their eyes or trying to change the subject. The fact that he often brought along some of his delicious homemade curry dishes only sweetened his appeal and made him all the more welcome.

On one clear frigid night, when the moon was full and the winds were whipping over the shingles and fingering the shutters, Christophe and Surendra found themselves sitting alone together at the kitchen table, enjoying a last cup of tea before calling it a night. The Doyons had left some hours ago to treat themselves to a restaurant meal and an early movie and the two men, as usual, had been talking about the railway business in their respective countries. Surendra had expressed his regret that most of the locos in India were simple machines and that living engines were in the minority there. He also wished that he'd known more engineers while still living in his homeland for one of his fondest desires had always been to learn more about how the living ones came into being and to witness their births, but he'd only managed to see it once, alas.

"I wasn't even allowed in the building," he told Christophe. "I had to stand outside the bay doors and watch from there. I remember it was a fine big passenger engine, not so different from our Gordon, and because he was so large, I was able to see his face quite well." He paused, reminiscing, his expression becoming dreamy. "It was lovely, watching him come alive. So innocent and a little astonished, like any newborn, yet already alert and aware. I've never seen anything like it. You're so lucky, Christophe, to have attended to so many of them when they first awaken. It must be very rewarding work."

"It is, rather…" He sipped his tea, momentarily preoccupied by his own memories. "They see something, you know," he added softly, almost whispering. "Something only engines can see. When they first awaken."

Surendra felt a tingle sweep through him, the sense of standing on the edge of a vast abyss. He leaned forward. "What, Christophe? What do they see?"

"I'm not sure. But it always happens the same way. First, they draw that initial gasping breath. Then their eyes flutter open. There's something right in front of them that they focus on and their faces assume this wonderful expression, full of delight and awe. It never lasts long, five, ten seconds maybe, before they begin to look to one side, usually the left, and then they look upward, as if watching something leave…"

"Yes! That was it exactly. As if something were ascending…"

"It's only after that happens that they even seem to notice us, any people that are present to welcome them," Christophe went on. "And their expressions always change at that point to something much more puzzled than wondering, as if they're thinking who are all these strange little creatures and why are they staring at me? I always got my guys to go forward and introduce themselves and gently touch the new engine at that point, to let them know we meant no harm and to get a good relationship started."

"We had a holy man who welcomed and blessed the engine I saw come to life. It served the same purpose, I suppose. To let the new one know he was wanted and that we meant him no harm."

"That sounds nice. They did something similar for the last loco they actually built here on Sodor, that miniature engine, Jock, up at Arlesdale. One of the local Reverends attended his awakening and blessed him before they fired him up for the first time. I wasn't there, but heard it was quite a moving little ceremony."

"Yes, I imagine it was…" Surendra blinked, reliving his own experience for a moment. "Are you a religious man, Christophe? You speak sometimes as though you might be."

"Nothing organized. But I do believe that there's something beyond what we experience. I mean, the engines are proof of that, don't you think? Whatever it is that makes them living beings must come from somewhere, some…some dark eternity, and I think they go back to it when they die."

"Yes, I believe that also. Do they understand any of this, the locomotives? I've never spoken to any I've known about any of this."

"Again, I'm not sure," said Christophe. "A lot of them don't seem to think on a sophisticated enough level to even consider spiritual matters. They look to us instead, almost as if we were minor gods of a sort, and that's as far as it goes. Very few of them even remember what went on when they first came to life, and believe me, I've asked them all. A couple of them have told me that they do vaguely recall sensing a, a _presence_ , and that she was kind and wished them well."

"'She?'" Surendra queried.

Christophe smiled. "Every engine that could remember was adamant about that. They all said that the presence was kind and it was always a 'she'.

"A mother figure…"

"Oh, it gets better. One engine, and one engine only, told me that he saw something made of glittering silver rails and that she smiled at him. She wasn't shaped like a human or a locomotive either. Just silver rails intertwined together…who smiled. And then she faded away."

"A goddess," Surendra breathed.

"Perhaps. And that engine wasn't a hundred percent sure if he actually saw her when he first awakened or if he saw her later in a dream when he first fell asleep—their first day of life before they start talking tends to get a little muddled in their memories. But he did see _something_ and it was beyond anything he could have imagined."

"That's beautiful. I like this possibility that someone watches over our engines, someone all their own."

"I do too. And there may be some actual evidence for that. When I still lived in Canada and once I became an engineer, I used to work at one of the biggest locomotive works in Quebec. We built some beautiful engines, most of them alive, some not…it all depended on the customer's preferences. We had a very good record with the live ones, but then, for the first time in years, had a dud. Got the faceplate backing on as per usual, sat back and waited, and—nothing. Nothing whatsoever. It just happens sometimes, even to the best works and no matter how well you build them. We were disappointed, of course, but there are always railways that prefer to use non-living locos so we were able to sell our dud on with no real financial loss to ourselves in the end. Besides, we had another one of the same class already mostly built and were confident we'd have better luck with that one. But again, nothing, even though we left the faceplate on for two days. This time we got a little worried afterwards, thinking we'd lost our touch or were doing something wrong. Then we got this small shunter ready. Same deal…we put the faceplate backing on first thing in the morning, and by the afternoon, success! You can normally tell right away, right around the six hour mark, whether a living loco's going to take up residence in an engine body, and by the next afternoon we'd welcomed this cute new living shunter into the world…I think we wound up calling him Andrei. Anyway, we were back in business and never had another failure when trying to build a living loco while I was still there.

"The fact that we'd failed twice in a row for no good reason that I could see stuck with me, though, and I tried to keep track of our two duds just out of curiosity. One got sold out West, the other went down to the States. And within the year, the American one had a horrific derailment and smashed into a river ravine and the other one collided with a train ahead of it at speed and smashed its front end beyond recognition. So both of them were gone, just like that. What are the odds, eh?"

"Quite astronomical, I should think."

"Exactly! So I started asking around, trying to find out what other duds might have been sold on and what happened to them. It wasn't easy. Locomotive builders don't really want to publicize when something goes wrong and the other works were our rivals, after all, but I eventually managed to find and follow up on three other engines that had been built to be living locos but which never came to life. And every single one of them, I found out, came to a bad end within eighteen months, two of them by crashing or derailing, the third one was caught in a shed fire and so badly scorched that they wound up scrapping it. So that's five dud engines that were sold as non-living and which were in perfect running order, lasting at most only eighteen months once out on the rails. What do you think of _those_ odds?"

Surendra beamed. What Christophe had just told him only reaffirmed his own suspicions. "I think…something is intervening. Before they come to life."

"I've wondered about that too. Perhaps our rail goddess has the gift of premonition."

It was a heady proposal. "I've always felt that there was something…special about them," Surendra sighed.

"Of course they're special. They're living machines! What I find most remarkable about that is how many people are so very blasé about it. Even railway workers…I'm always astounded by how indifferent some of them become over time to the fact that they're dealing with an intelligent being who happens to live within the body of a locomotive. That's frankly the main reason I chose you to work with me. You actually seem interested in how they think and feel over just driving them around like they're hired taxis or something."

"I _am_ interested in that, my friend. I want to learn everything about them! It's why I came to Sodor, the chance to work with so many living engines. And I love the steam engines most of all. I just do."

"Yeah, I hear you. I love the steamers too…"

Both men fell into a contemplative silence as they polished off the last few swallows of their respective teas, the liquid cold now, but they barely noticed. Their conversation had warmed them on a deep level. Then a stamping on the steps just outside plus a peal of laughter broke the mood.

It was the Doyons, of course, returning from the movie theatre. Denise had been teasing her husband.

"You should have seen him, covering his eyes every time that stupid monster showed up onscreen," she chortled. "What a man. _My_ man."

"I can't 'elp it," Pierre protested. "Dat blob scare me."

"It looked like leftover jello! I swear, I'm going to make up a big bowl of gelatin and dump it on your head some night while you're trying to sleep." She paused to hang up her and Pierre's coats, her amusement winding down. "Oh well, at least that Steve McQueen guy was cute… Did you two have a good time while we were gone?"

Christophe and Surendra exchanged their own gentle grins. "Oh, we did…" Christophe said.

Shortly after that night, the first proper snowstorm finally arrived, blasting in with a vengeance late one evening and drifting in all the yards and lines from one end of the Island to the other. The total fall was deep enough to delay the following day's work until the engines assigned to plow got a start on the clearing. Over in the Knapford roundhouse that task fell to Hurricane, whose compact power coupled with his uncommon agility for a ten-wheeler, made him ideal for plowing the yards. As for Guy, he of course was in his element and steamed past Hurricane and out to attend to the mainlines as soon as the tank engine had gotten the turntable and a couple of the connecting tracks and sidings cleaned up. The other engines merely peeked out from their berths at the snowy new landscape as their doors were likewise cleared and then opened, one by one. None of the rest of them, Henry excepted, had plows and would not be expected to go out at all until the tracks had been cleared.

"Oh dear, I'm so late," Henry exclaimed as he eased out of the shed and onto the turntable, even though his crew had already assured him that no one would expect his Kipper run to be on time that day. "Thanks for clearing us out, Hurricane."

"No problemo," the tank engine replied, watching fondly as his friend passed by and started off for Brendam to pick up the early-morning train he usually had underway before dawn every day. Hurricane followed as soon as he could, to go over to the Knapford station proper to continue cleaning up. There were a lot of sidings and connecting tracks in the yard there and he expected to be kept busy all day.

As for the four plowless locos left behind, foreign engines all, three made use of their unexpected holiday by chatting happily and relaxing, and the fourth, Lammergeier, fretted while he listened to the others talk. He didn't settle until the last of the storm clouds broke up around midmorning and the sun began shining warmly down on his face, which calmed him.

A couple of general railway workers came by around noontime to shovel out the crews' patio and service entrances and make sure that the washdown area was clear, otherwise the Knapford shed engines were left in peace. They didn't see anybody else until just before teatime, when Christophe Pelletier came by on his own time to see how the gang had survived the season's first major snowfall.

The man saved his own engine for last. "And you, Lammergeier?" he said to him. "Having a nice afternoon off, are you? I bet you never saw so much snow in Berlin."

The big 48 eyed his driver with uncommon intensity.

"Can I plow?" he blurted.

Christophe regarded the engine with surprise. Aside from Guy and possibly Hurricane, none of the locomotives he knew seemed to enjoy snowplowing.

"You want to plow? Hmm, I'm not sure about that. I don't think Sir Topham wants his excursion engines doing that sort of work. It's sure to scrape up your buffer beam and you'd need some repainting come spring." He looked at Lammergeier again and saw real disappointment in his eyes. "Then again…" he said, relenting, "tell you what. I'll go swing by Sir Topham's office and ask to make sure. There's no harm in asking, and who knows. He may welcome the offer of help."

Lammergeier brightened again. When Christophe eventually left, he thanked his driver with uncommon sincerity, enough so that Adler wound up regarding him in a speculative way.

"Did you really mean that? You want to plow?" Adler asked his brother.

"Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"

"No. Of course not. I'm just a little surprised, is all."

Lammergeier said nothing more to explain himself. He knew there was no polite way to say that he felt he no longer had much in common with his shed-mates and that he'd just as soon be out doing anything over sitting idle and listening to their inane chatter.

Christophe was surprised all over again when he spoke to Sir Topham Hatt in his office, just as promised, and he not only approved Lammergeier's forwarded request but expressed his pleasure over the engine's initiative and desire to work.

"It's too bad that all my engines don't share his enthusiasm," the Fat Controller concluded cheerfully. "Take him up to the works tomorrow and see if you can't get him fitted with his own plow blade. Anything solid black or red would look quite smart on him, I'd think."

"You're sure about this, sir? He's sure to pick up a few scrapes and possibly dings as well."

"Not to worry. There's always another bucket of paint," his boss chuckled, and that was that.

Christophe and Surendra came by early the next morning to take Lammergeier to the Sodor Steamworks as ordered, and by the end of the day he came back to the roundhouse sporting a wicked-looking black blade of V-configuration and a big smile. He even joked a bit about it with Hurricane and Guy as the workmen present removed it and put it into storage at the back of the shed for the moment. Henry was the most puzzled of them all. He was one of those engines who didn't like wearing their snowplow at all and couldn't understand why anyone would volunteer to carry such a thing.

It turned out that Lammergeier's new acquisition was perfectly timed. Only two days later, Sodor was socked with another snowstorm overnight and this time three engines surged forth from the Knapford roundhouse in the morning to do battle with the elements. Guy, as usual, went straight over to the mainlines and Lammergeier was put to work on one of the branch lines to learn his new trade. It went very well. Even though the 48 had no experience with plowing, Christophe did, and with his driver's guidance, Lammergeier soon got the hang of how to best apply his strength to shove the varying depths of snow aside. He picked up speed as he became more practised and ran through numerous small towns and stations that morning, and before he knew it, the entire outgoing branch line had been done and his crew was pulling him over in Ffarquhar for a long early lunch break.

Christophe stayed with his engine to inspect how the new plow blade was holding up while his fireman went off to speak with the stationmaster. He was very pleased by how swiftly Lammergeier had learned and how well he'd cooperated. "Excellent work!" he exclaimed. "Thomas'll be very happy that he won't have to do any plowing himself when he comes along later on, just wait and see. You just did his whole outbound branch line for him."

He patted Lammergeier with sincere appreciation and the engine smiled back, proud of himself, his expression for once warm and grateful for the praise. It'd been far too long since Christophe had seen such an expression on the 48's face and it gave him renewed hope that there was a fine and personable locomotive to befriend lurking just beneath Lammergeier's current standoffish, formal exterior; it was just a matter of determining how to reach him. One thing was already certain, however. The engine's asking to be allowed to plow had been a _very_ good idea.

From then on, it became one of Lammergeier's routine jobs to go out whenever it had or was snowing hard to help keep the tracks clear for the other engines. He certainly didn't have to do any such thing. for most of the working engines, such as Henry, carried their own plows to clear their own paths through the snow, if need be. It was just that it was so much easier to haul a train with the lines already cleared or even partially cleared, and now that Sir Topham Hatt actually had a surplus of engines on hand, there was really no reason for any one locomotive to be overburdened. Christophe and Surendra were happy to indulge Lammergeier's newfound love as well. They knew how badly their temperamental engine handled inactivity and there was no denying that it was a real love for him—he would plow without a break until exhausted if they let him. Lammergeier couldn't explain why he enjoyed his new task so much, not even to himself. Perhaps it was because the snow was a tangible problem he could shove aside and leave behind and forget about, unlike his personal issues which constantly simmered and were ready to gnaw away at him whenever he had nothing to occupy his time or mind.

One evening, Lammergeier and his crew came home to find the last empty berth in the Knapford roundhouse occupied by a visitor, the big black, red-wheeled Japanese locomotive named Hiro, who was normally stabled up in Vicarstown. Heavy snow squalls had been plaguing the Island all day and Hiro had been working the mainlines along with Guy to try and keep the accumulations down to a reasonable level. The squall activity hadn't ended until late in the afternoon just before dark at which point Hiro's crew had opted that they might as well overnight in Knapford, which was where their last run at the snow ended anyway. When Lammergeier came in, Hiro was sitting next to the three Canadians and Hurricane had already switched berths again so Henry could be right up next to Hiro's other side. The visitor and Henry were good friends and Lammergeier could overhear them talking about Henry's recent permanent move to the Knapford shed as he backed into his own berth.

"…strange not to have you there anymore," Hiro was saying.

"Oh, I don't know," Henry replied. "It's true we have a very long history together, but I sometimes thought that Gordon and James mainly liked having someone around they could criticize. They weren't exactly supportive. And it's easier for my crew, having me here. They don't have to drive over to Tidmouth anymore."

Lammergeier studied the black loco, sizing him up, as he and Henry chatted on. He knew all about Hiro's background and had exchanged whistles with him on occasion in passing, yet had never actually talked to him. Hearing him now, he was a little surprised by how soft and gentle the Japanese engine's voice was, although he otherwise appeared very strong in an old-fashioned sort of way and seemed entirely self-assured.

When Hiro was done with his conversation with Henry, he introduced himself to Lammergeier.

"Everyone else in this shed I already know and have spoken to, but not you," he remarked in his serene, pleasantly-accented voice. "I understand you were rescued from a scrapyard in France, thanks to a tourist's chance remarks. Good fortune must have been smiling on you that day. And on your brother, to have brought you back together again."

Lammergeier bristled at once. He really did not like any reminders of the wasted years he'd spent in France.

"Ze same as vhen you vere found again in ze forest," he said back. "Some good luck finally after zhat long, long time beink forgotten." He sensed that Adler was looking at him, trying to catch his eye, but ignored him and ruthlessly pressed on. "Did zhat make you angry, to be abandon?" he demanded. "Beink put on ze siding _und_ left zere alone?"

Several of the other engines caught their breaths, ready to feel indignant on Hiro's behalf. But Hiro, he merely considered Lammergeier's words with thoughtful care before answering.

"Angry? No. Not after I learned of what had happened to the world while I slept the years away. Your homeland and mine…this very Island and all on the Mainland… It would have been asking far too much of men to expect them to remember me when they were at war with one another. I'm sure they had many, many higher priorities than to fix an old steam locomotive during that terrible time."

"Zis is very true," Adler added in a sober tone. "It vas a very bad time for ze humans. Zhey suffered very much. I saw it for myself."

Now all the engines had gone sober and sad and would have nodded in affirmation if only they could. All except for Lammergeier, who was predictably furious that his concern had been turned back on itself. A bad time for the humans? Higher priorities? Who cares! he wanted to shout. Forget the bloody humans, what about us! But he knew the others wouldn't listen to him and would only think him churlish and unfaithful. Hiro's final words only confirmed it.

"We must all do our best, always, and hope for the best," he concluded. "There are always good people in this world to balance the bad." He looked at Henry and smiled. "After all, I was rescued eventually." He aimed his gaze further down the row of engines, at Lammergeier, and smiled again. "And so were you."

Lammergeier averted his eyes and backed down, defeated. Hopeless, he thought, gloomily watching as the other engines livened up and began chatting again, their goodwill restored.

The 48 had been disgusted enough by Hiro's refusal to hold men accountable that when the next snowstorm hit, he virtually blasted out of the shed to attack the drifts; Christophe had to speak sharply to him and pull him back down. And it was a bad storm, a daytime storm that dumped prodigious amounts of wet heavy snow on the Island as the hours wore on. By midafternoon, it got even worse. The temperature shot up and the snow changed to heavy lashing rain, which began saturating anything left on the ground, turning it into slush. Such storms, with their large amounts of precipitation which fell in both solid and liquid form, chased after by a violent cold front that invariably swept in behind the rain to create a flash freeze, were always dangerous and needed to be taken seriously. The engines that were still out plowing picked up the pace, desperate to clear the last stretches left in time to be washed down to the bare metal rails before they froze up again.

Lammergeier and his crew found themselves in Arlesburgh West by the time darkness began to beckon and the temperature reached its high point that day and began to teeter on the verge of plummeting again. It was still raining hard and all three of them, the two men and the engine, were very tired, none more so than Lammergeier himself. He'd been doing phenomenal work all day and the only bit left, as far as they knew, was the coastal branch line from Arlesburgh down to Tidmouth, a run of only ten miles or so, plus which they'd be steaming for home the whole way. Christophe hated to overwork an engine, but it was simply too important a line to miss. The storm had already cost everyone a day's work and leaving the slushy snow to freeze up overnight was to risk an unusable line.

They started off. The west coast of Sodor had picked up a lot of snow and it was getting heavier by the minute as the rain kept beating down. Lammergeier was very powerful for his size, but he was still a lightweight compared to some and it cost him. Christophe could feel him starting to labour, especially when he pushed through the higher drifts which had been melted down into banks of almost pure slush. Then came a beautiful sound, the wail of Guy's whistle piercing the rain, wind and gathering gloom from somewhere on ahead of them. Before long they could see his headlights; he was plowing the northbound track and coming fast, the slush spraying out like a fan in front of him. Sodden snow was nothing to a heavy plowing specialist like Guy. He wasn't even wearing his driftbuster plow, just one of his 'little' blades, the description 'little' being relative.

The two crews pulled their engines to a brief halt opposite one another in order to compare notes. Guy still looked fresh. And the rain was just a free wash as far as he was concerned.

"Pull your lad over at Bluff's Cove," Guy's driver suggested. "We'll finish up to Arlesburgh, get turned around, and come back to do the last part of the line. Guy's still got plenty left in his tank and it won't take him long at all and this is the last bit left that Sir Topham wants done for sure. You can follow us all the way back to Knapford after that. Don't know about you, but we're looking forward to that!"

"Sounds good," Christophe agreed. "We'll see you again after you go by at Bluff's Cove." And they parted again, Guy picking up speed rapidly, Lammergeier plowing steadily onward at a slower pace.

Once at Bluff's Cove, however, they hit a snag. Lammergeier plowed out the siding he was meant to use, but refused to stay in it.

"No, I go," he insisted stubbornly, overriding Christophe's attempts to slow or stop him with frightening ease. It was the first time he had deliberately disobeyed his new driver's commands without any subterfuge involved and for that reason alone, Christophe didn't find himself as livid as he might have been. It was also a sobering reminder of how pointless it was to try and physically manhandle an engine into doing what it didn't want to be doing. Lammergeier was unwilling to wait for Guy to take over his plowing and that was simply that.

"Lammergeier! There's no need of this! You're tired. You're going to damage yourself," Surendra tried, but had no better luck than did Christophe in trying to reason with him.

"No! Is my job. I finish."

"Lammergeier, for pete's sake…" Christophe said helplessly. He looked at his fireman, who appeared as out of ideas as he was. The only way left to stop an engine who'd locked all the controls in his cab was to emergency-douse his fire and that would create a terrible mess, not to mention that Lammergeier was currently running at full steam and that he likely wouldn't run out of usable pressure until somewhere close to Tidmouth anyway. Besides, it wasn't as though he were running away with them, exactly. He just wanted to keep plowing and finish his job no matter what. There was something admirable in that.

"All right, enough of this," Christophe decided. "You can continue, but you have to hand over your controls again. I'll try to help you out as best I can and maybe we can get Guy to buffer up and push a bit or something…"

He gripped the throttle and was a little surprised to find it movable again. Lammergeier was apparently satisfied that he'd made his point. Christophe worked the control a little, getting the engine to speed up and then slow again, and the 48 responded perfectly, as docile as could be once more. Surendra, observing, wagged his eyebrows with some disbelief and got back to tossing in a few shovelfuls of coal. He wondered what Christophe would do later on to punish the engine for his disobedience.

By the time Guy came back their way and caught up behind them, there was only a mile or so of track left, and it was the big Canadian Northern who wound up following the German 48 back to the Knapford roundhouse. Guy's crew had assumed that the others had just gotten tired of waiting and had carried on on their own after all and so said nothing about the change in plans as they rubbed down their engine and dried him off once he was cosily ensconced in his berth. Lammergeier's crew didn't say much either. Christophe was still stewing over what Lammergeier had done as he wiped over some of his undercarriage and left it to Surendra to get the engine's topside and face reasonably dry. Actually, the little engineer doubted he could even have looked Lammergeier in the eye at that moment without getting angry with him all over again. He'd thought he'd been making progress, but now…

"Christophe…"

It was Surendra's voice, softly calling. He looked up and his fireman put a finger to his mouth in a shushing gesture, then motioned to him to come around and up on the running board. Christophe climbed up, intrigued. Surendra beckoned to him to come close and put a hand on the engine's forehead, indicated that he should do the same. Lammergeier didn't say anything either. He appeared exhausted, his face drawn and wan, and had fallen fast asleep.

Christophe gently drew his hand over the amorphous alloy surface. It felt soft, warm, as yielding as flesh. He touched Lammergeier's left cheek. His face had gone soft there too and Christophe could even feel the semblance of a cheekbone beneath the faux flesh or at least something that tried to mimic a cheekbone. Lammergeier was one of those engines whose face was quite realistic and human-like, not as abstract as some. His nose was the only feature which had a truly sculpted look.

The two men took advantage of their engine's unconscious state to stroke his face a few minutes longer, then climbed down, one after the other. As soon as they'd gotten safely out of earshot, Christophe murmured, "Poor beggar. Well, at least we know now that he _can_ relax. He's choosing not to lower his safeguards deliberately when we're around."

"He still doesn't trust us," said Surendra mournfully.

Their night's work done, they both paused at that point to put up the collars on their coats and wrap them into place with their scarves, trying to make themselves as weatherproof as possible before stepping out from the shelter of the roundhouse and into the storm. It was still raining and blowing hard and had already gotten noticeably colder. If they waited much longer, it would mean a walk home through even worse weather, when the cold front roared through. Resigned to getting soaked, their heads down, they started on their way. Surendra resumed their conversation to take their minds off the wretched conditions and their weariness and asked Christophe if he intended to discipline Lammergeier.

"I dunno… I should," Christophe replied. "The last thing we need is for him to think he can defy us with impunity. On the other hand, he only disobeyed me because he wanted to finish his job on his own. I didn't consider his pride when I said okay to Guy's driver…" He trailed off, pondered the situation in silence for a minute. "Well, we're all getting the day off tomorrow in any case. I think I'll ask if we can leave Lammergeier in the shed a day or two longer after that. It'll do him good—he really did exhaust himself today—and knowing him, he'll probably consider that his punishment."

Surendra nodded. "He will. Should we ask for another engine? While he's resting the extra days?"

"Maybe by day three. I could use the rest too! What I'll do is check on him tomorrow and we can take it from there. I'd like to see him and Guy pulled out into the sunshine tomorrow afternoon too, if it's at all decent, and get some oil into those undercarriages. Oh, and Hurricane too. I noticed he looked pretty good just now, a lot better than our boy, but I'm sure he was out in the rain earlier as well."

"I can help you with that. What time are you going over?"

"Oh, you don't have to do that, Surendra. This is more a maintenance thing. I'll be wearing my engineer's hat tomorrow."

The other man grinned. "Take me on as a wannabe apprentice fitter then. I'd enjoy fooling around with a couple of the engines in the sunshine tomorrow. It'll be relaxing after what happened today."

"Okay, but fair warning…we may have to put up with Philip and his driver for a few hours, if they don't have any other jobs on the go. They're the ones who usually come over to do our shunting."

"I'll remember to bring my earplugs," Surendra quipped, and the two of them trudged on, picking their way carefully through the slush, looking forward to getting home to their own warm human berths to sleep away the last of one long miserable and memorable day.

to be continued...


	9. Holiday Gig

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Nine - Holiday Gig

Lammergeier did indeed view his spell of rest in the Knapford roundhouse as punishment for his disobedience and by day three was so well-recovered and so antsy that he thought seriously about asking one of the other crewmen who showed up early that morning to go fetch Christophe Pelletier for him so they could talk. What he wanted to do was apologize to his driver in the hopes that the man would take pity on him and let him get back to work. What he realized upon further reflection was that his plan was doomed to failure because Lammergeier wasn't sorry at all for what he'd done and Christophe would know it and then he'd just get into more trouble for lying and trying to manipulate one of the few humans he couldn't manipulate. He wound up falling into one of the sourest of his sour funks yet before torpor mercifully took him away and he was still sleeping off his disappointment and anger when his shed-mates, who actually had jobs and lives, began returning late in the afternoon.

He woke up fast, though, when Adler told him he had some exciting news to pass on. Apparently, his brother had stopped at the Knapford station not ten minutes ago to finish off the last of a passenger job, and Christophe had been there, coming out of Sir Topham Hatt's office. As soon as he'd seen the other 48 at the platform, he'd come over to exchange pleasantries with the engine and his crew before informing them of a change in Lammergeier's duties, and Adler had been the one chosen to relay the new info. Which amounted to this: Lammergeier's snowplow would remain in the back of the shed for the time being. Instead, he would accompany Adler up to the Sodor Steamworks the next day to be outfitted as a holiday engine.

Lammergeier didn't know what to make of this new development. Adler knew what the job would entail and was all excited about Lammergeier joining him, and Lammergeier had to admit to himself that there was a part of him which loved the idea of doing something with his brother in tandem. On the other hand, he was a little suspicious about this business of being a holiday exhibit and chuffing around spreading holiday cheer…he wasn't exactly in a cheerful mood at the moment. Still, it would get him out of the roundhouse, and as the evening wore on, Adler's enthusiasm began to rub off on him in a big way.

And so it was that the next morning saw both 48s steaming up to the works at Crovan's Gate bright and early. There, Lammergeier saw for the first time what the humans had planned for him. He was to carry a colourful metal sign similar to the display Adler carried when he was doing his tourist gigs, except that this one read NORTH WESTERN RAILWAY and beneath it, in even larger lettering, HAPPY HOLIDAYS. That was just the start of it. Once the sign was in place, a number of large evergreen boughs were in turn wired to his display posts to form a green living framework and a string of Christmas lights was wound through the boughs. Several more strings were fixed all along the chains on his railings and even the exterior roof on his cab got some lights. Then came the decorations, huge shiny bulbs and bells, broad ribbons and bows, and sprays of fake holly berries, both ruby red and white. One by one, all were securely tied into place until both engines had been rendered relentlessly festive. The only real difference between them was that instead of HAPPY HOLIDAYS, Adler's sign proclaimed SEASON'S GREETINGS. The snarky side of Lammergeier felt like telling the men that they'd gotten it wrong. He was the engine who was supposed to wear the SEASON'S GREETINGS sign…Adler was the HAPPY HOLIDAYS loco. But Christophe, who was still present and hooking up the generators and batteries to run the lights, would probably just roll his eyes and shut down that assertion in a hurry and ruin his fun.

The fitters who'd help decorate Lammergeier and who were still big fans of their 'Lambchop', told him that he looked great. Lammergeier started to feel pretty good. Even if he didn't like people per se, he did have an ego and liked being looked at and admired, and if he looked anything at all like Adler, who'd been parked in the bay right next to his, his colourful makeover should prove quite the attention grabber. Lammergeier decided that he wouldn't mind at all just chuffing around and letting people applaud his looks. He probably wouldn't even have to talk to them. Christophe and Surendra could take care of that end of it.

Adler was even happier than Lammergeier. It was the first time in a long while that he'd seen a real spark of interest in his brother's eyes or seen him regarding the humans clustered around him with something other than boredom or irritation. Being done up for a big event—and on Sodor, the holiday celebrations were always a big event—was probably reminding him of his earlier days when he'd enjoyed life and been a fun engine to have around. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to thaw out of his moodiness and get over himself…

By the time both engines returned to Knapford, Lammergeier was actually starting to gloat about how good the pair of them looked and was looking around for someone to impress. Adler was delighted. He was so grateful to the Fat Controller for having made the decision to include Lammergeier in the festivities this year. It was, after all, exactly the sort of thing they'd both been made for.

From then on, the two 48s began their days near noontime and worked on well into the evenings when their holiday lights were at their finest. Many of their jobs involved pulling passenger coaches stuffed full of happy holiday-goers to the events put on by the various towns. Adi especially enjoyed pulling the open-topped carriages used to transport the Sodor Brass Band from place to place, all the more so when he and his crew discovered that the musicians had made a point of learning the carol 'O Tannenbaum' for them. Then came an extra-special event at the Town Square in Tidmouth, held throughout the afternoon and which culminated come sunset of the lighting of the huge Christmas tree set before the town hall. Both engines attended this one for no other reason than to serve as colourful backdrops and photo opportunities…and Lammergeier learned to his dismay that there were some consequences of his having ingratiated himself with Sir Topham Hatt which he _really_ hadn't anticipated…

In short, this was the event when Sir Topham played Santa for the kids and he always arrived in appropriate style aboard his favourite little blue tank engine Thomas, lugging a sack stuffed with candies and small gifts which he'd happily hand out to all the excited children present until his stash was done. After that, it was over to one of the 48s to take part in one of the newest additions to the celebrations, the chance to take a picture of one's youngsters as they posed with Santa Hatt next to the festive signage carried by one of his holiday engines. And this year, not surprisingly, Sir Topham Hatt's choice for the honour was Lambchop.

Lammergeier really couldn't believe it at first, when they first pushed a little stand with steps up against him so people could climb up on his running board from the platform. It seemed ridiculously dangerous not to mention a violation of umpteen railway regulations, surely, to be letting a bunch of squirming brats clamber around on him! But what could he say? It was his owner himself okaying the nonsense! To make it worse, even his crew got into it. Christophe and Surendra both exchanged their uniform caps for a set of ludicrous-looking elf hats, after which they began assisting the families who wanted pictures of their kids with Santa Hatt. The two 48s had been parked facing one another on the same track so Adler had a great view of all the fun throughout. He couldn't help grinning at his brother's obvious discomfort which he was trying desperately to hide and sometimes fought an urge to laugh aloud as the afternoon's torturous photo session wore on and tested Lammergeier's tolerance and duplicitous ways to their utmost.

Although Adler considered Lammergeier's being forced to accommodate their master's wishes as having its comical side, Lammergeier didn't find it funny in any way, shape or form. He wound up feeling quite angry and insulted, although he successfully hid it, and afterwards no longer much enjoyed being viewed by all the holiday-makers or transporting them around. The problem in his mind was that the people of this Island were just too darn familiar with engines. Lammergeier liked being admired from afar. He saw no reason why anyone needed to press up to him or even get close in order to look at him—it wasn't like he was hard to see! By the time Christmas Day rolled around, he was already sick of his new duties and wishing that he could trade all his holiday finery for his snowplow and get back to doing something genuinely useful. Unfortunately, he learned that he would have to carry his decorations until after the New Year.

A few days after Christmas, there came a window of excellent clear weather that was forecast to last for at least forty-eight hours and Sir Topham decided to cash in another of the ideas he'd had when he first acquired Lammergeier and send both engines over to the Mainland on a job. There were a number of trucks down at the Brendam Docks already loaded with goods who'd been waiting for better weather and whose delivery could be put off, although not forever, and all were pulled out on short notice and combined with even more freight cars loaded with perishables which would find a ready market for New Year's. The two 48s thus set off late in the morning of the first good day under brilliant sunshine and clear skies, Adler leading, Lammergeier acting as the back engine, heading for the big goods yard of Bridlington on the Mainland.

It turned into a lovely journey. The train was very long, with more trucks and cars and weight involved than either engine had ever managed on their own, yet together they handled it well and with strength to spare. As usual, the trucks were terrified of the two German locomotives and their progression was uncommonly peaceful as well as uneventful and they made excellent time. A single stop for refueling and to take on water was all the engines needed and the crews decided to work through lunch and chow down on sandwiches on the job, and they rolled into Bridlington in time to deliver their goods and get the locos parked side by side on a pair of parallel sidings in a secure area that would be kept partially floodlit all night before anyone even took a break for tea.

Both 48s earned heaps of praise from their crews that day and they deserved it. They hadn't put a wheel wrong once during the trip, their train was safe and the perishables at least were already being unloaded, and they'd looked very smart while going about their business, just as Sir Topham wanted… _extra_ smart since they were still wearing their holiday garb. A few people, yard workers with some time to kill, began coming by now and then and looking at them from a distance as the afternoon wore on. Once the horn announcing the end of the day shift sounded, the number of curious onlookers swelled and a good two dozen men or more who'd just finished work came over to have a closer look at the visitors. They gathered by the siding tracks in front of the two locomotives, studying them with critical eyes, taking note of their decorations. Some of the men didn't look very friendly and Adler was pretty sure he knew why. It was probably hard for them to see anything German on British soil.

"So them's the Hatts' two Olympic engines, is that right?" one of the men remarked.

"Yeah, built for the Nazi Olympics, that's what I read," another confirmed. "That's why they got their leading axels set so far forward. Gives 'em room to carry those displays."

"Looks kinda nice the way they've got them fixed up for the holidays. I like the railings…" The man who'd last spoken paused to make eye contact with Adler. "Hey, you speak English?"

"Yes, sir," Adler responded at once. "I am pleased to meet you. My name is Adler, but you can call me Adi."

"Adi, huh? What about the other one, what's his name?"

"Lammergeier."

"Say what?"

"Lammergeier. Vhich is vhy we call him Lambchop," Adler said, smiling, and was relieved to hear a couple of the men snicker a little. "Lambchop is still working on his English, I am afraid, so may not say much."

"Oh. Okay. I guess you two are brothers, yeah?"

"Yes. We were both made at ze Borsig Works, in Berlin, and zhey made only three of us. Ve vere ze _Raubvogel_ class and zhey named us after birds of prey."

"What's a…Lum…er, what Lambchop is?" asked a different man.

"A Lammergeier is a sort of very large vulture. Ze German name means 'lamb vulture'."

"Ah, so Lambchop! Okay, I gotcha now. Your name means 'eagle', doesn't it?"

"Yes it does. Ze people on Sodor sometimes call me Adi ze Eagle."

The slight tension that had been present within the crowd was starting to ease. Adler continued trying to project an air of friendly compliance and wished Lammergeier would back him up a little, but his brother was pulling his blank, don't-understand-a-word act and just looked bored. It was up to Adler to carry on socializing alone, and now that the ice was broken and the men looking at them knew that at least one of the visiting engines could understand them, their ensuing conversation livened up and became quite enjoyable. And, as usual, the talk soon turned to one specific, popular topic.

"Did y' ever see Hitler?" one of the men asked.

"Numerous times," replied Adler. "He met us at event openings sometimes, at ze stations."

"Wot, y' mean 'e didn't ride yer trains?"

"No. He had a staff automobile he preferred to use."

"Why?" inquired the same man who'd asked about Hitler. "Didn't he like travelling by rail?"

Adler had a rare moment of inspiration. "I zink," he said, sounding very serious, "it vas because it is easier to check ze auto for bombs zhan a train."

As he'd hoped, a little ripple of laughter went through the crowd. Even the few individuals who'd been giving him hard looks relaxed and finally dropped their attitudes. "His own people were trying to do him in, were they?" one of them remarked.

"Oh, more zhan you know. Unfortunately, zhey never succeeded."

All the humans smiled after that comment. They chatted on with the 48 for a while longer, asking him more general questions about his class and past service, and before they left, assured Adler that his train would be the first one fully unloaded in the morning and that he ought to be good to go by ten…eleven at the latest. He thanked them gravely in return and wished them a good night and a good upcoming New Year's. And then he and Lammergeier were alone again. He looked at his brother, disappointed.

"You could have said a few words to them, you know. Even just a 'hello' would have been nice."

"What's the point?" Lammergeier said, sounding apathetic.

"I don't even know what that means," said Adler. Now he was just puzzled. Lammergeier had seemed quite eager about their trip earlier in the day. But ever since their train had been broken up and the trucks shunted away, he'd gone quiet and his enthusiasm had plummeted. To try and cheer him up again, Adler told him his latest news about the upcoming tourist season.

"Getting that new excursion train is almost a certainty now," he related. "And the best thing is that now Sir Topham is thinking of having it painted up in a special way so that it would look good being pulled by all of us…you, me, or any of the Canadians. And they're going to be really nice coaches, too. Erich told me that we made a lot of money for the railway this past summer so they can afford something top-notch and deluxe. They're even looking at what's available on the Continent, in case something historical comes up for sale or lease, like my coaches. Oh! And that's the other thing I wanted to tell you! When I go up to Vicarstown later this coming spring to pick up my coaches for the new season, Sir Topham already said you should come along so Missus Beauchamp can finally meet you. She always comes along to see her coaches off when they go back to work, and once she approves you, we can share pulling them on the tours. It'd be fun to be on display up at Ulfstead myself now and then and watch _you_ bring the tourists in, don't you think?"

Far from being pepped up or even interested, Lammergeier had simply gotten a very weird expression on his face while Adler was speaking. The instant his brother was done, he muttered, "I don't want to do passenger work anymore."

Adler regarded him with dismay. He didn't even have to ask as to why Lammergeier's feelings had shifted so dramatically. It was his blasted dislike for humans again, interfering with something he'd once seemed enthused over. Bad enough that Adler had to avoid bringing up any mention of interacting with his human friends during their everyday personal chitchat, but now it seemed that even talking about much of the work he did would soon be out of bounds, and all because Lammergeier had grown to detest people so much that he didn't even want them riding behind him anymore on a train! And what would he do if he were asked to exhibit himself up at Ulfstead again? Protest that too? Resort to something worse and possibly dangerous? It just seemed crazy to Adler. How could Lammergeier even _think_ of refusing certain types of work; it was going to get him into major trouble and possibly even taken out of service if he didn't watch himself.

The more Adler thought about the repercussions of what Lammergeier had just said, the more depressed he became. Despite everything, he still loved his brother dearly and couldn't stand the possibility of losing him again. Being shackled as to what they could discuss together already seemed a tragedy to Adler. Hearing that Lammergeier was considering sabotaging himself for such stupid and infuriatingly inexplicable personal reasons was more than he could bear.

It was all too much. The current state of their relationship and now _this_ on top of it made Adler so unhappy that he HAD to say something.

"Lammergeier," he ventured, "I don't like that we have this big disagreement dividing us. It's making me miserable and I don't think you're happy about it either. We're also brothers, you and I. It's a miracle that we found each other again at all given all that's happened, and we shouldn't be wasting it by quarrelling with one another over differences of opinion. Brothers ought to be able to talk about anything, even difficult things. I've tried to respect your point of view, but I don't think you realize just how much I owe the special humans in my life and why I care for them as much as I do. Erich…I'd be dead if it weren't for him. Missus Beauchamp, she loves those coaches of hers so very, very much, yet trusts me to pull them, and she got Erich and Dieter out of Germany for me. And Pierre and Denise… You have no idea how distressed and confused I was when I first got here. They were both so kind to me, right from the start, and Denise gave me so much time and helped me make sense of it all, all the things that happened to me and what I saw… And she was the only person who could speak German to me…I know you find that a comfort too. You _have_ to… Don't you?"

He gazed longingly at his brother, hoping for even a hint of shared sentiment. But all he got back was a face of cold stone, not a shred of warmth or sympathy to be seen. "I wish you'd at least tell me why you hate them so," he pleaded.

Lammergeier's expression became, if anything, even colder.

"You wouldn't be able to understand," he said.

Adler looked away and said nothing more. His feelings had been badly hurt.

Elsewhere, at about the same time, Lammergeier's crew had just finished up an evening's worth of schmoozing with some of the local railroad workers whilst stuffing themselves full of good tavern fare and were returning to their shared hotel room. As soon as they got inside, Christophe tossed his coat on his bed and said, "Okay, that's it! I know I said I wouldn't ask you about any independent conclusions you might have reference Lammergeier until after New Year's, but it's only a few days more and I can't wait any longer. Do you have any, _any_ ideas about what's going on in that engine's head?"

Surendra smiled as he hung his own coat up properly in the provided wardrobe. They'd had a splendid trip earlier up to Bridlington, and the opportunity to spend the night on the Mainland, sleep in in the morning, and make their way back to Knapford tomorrow at their leisure and all on their railway's dime to boot, was making it into a real working holiday for the two men. He'd suspected that Christophe might want to take advantage of their comfortable setting to troubleshoot a bit before they retired and had already given his expected question some thought.

"Actually, yes. I do think I know what is going on with our engine. I think the soul inside him remembers that it was once human."

"What?"

"Oh, he wouldn't remember it on a conscious level. He just senses that there is something profoundly wrong. He desires a return to his former status, to be on an equal footing with other men, not to serve them. That would be his fondest wish, although he doesn't even understand why. I am sorry, Christophe. This probably isn't what you want to hear. But I do believe that this is the source of what troubles him."

Christophe felt stunned. He'd heard the reincarnation theory before, which did explain some things but not others, and of course it fell naturally within Surendra's Hindu beliefs. Then a snippet of memory flashed through his mind, himself telling Denise that Lammergeier was likely coming across as rude and disrespectful because he was relating to them as though they were other engines. He'd never even considered the other possibility, that Lammergeier had been relating to them as though he were human.

The little engineer sat down on the end of the bed. Hard.

"Well damn, Surendra," he exclaimed. "How's he supposed to get over something like that?"

"He cannot 'get over' it, my friend. All he can do is learn to accept his situation, just as all of us must learn to accept what we are born into. It's the only way to achieve a satisfying and happy life."

That was the problem, Christophe thought as he kept sitting there, still stunned and feeling increasingly glum. He wasn't at all sure that Lammergeier could learn to accept anything.

to be continued...


	10. Adler

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Ten - Adler

Adi the Eagle was a happy locomotive. He'd spent the noontime break pulled over up at the big Vicarstown station that day and when his crew came back for him, his driver, Erich Dornwirth, was holding a yellow coltsfoot flower.

"Check this out," he said, lifting it up so Adler could see it. "I noticed it growing by one of the equipment sheds next to the siding when we went for lunch. There were a couple of framed glass panes leaned up against the shed wall and this fellow was tucked in underneath, using them like a little greenhouse. Tough old thing…you can't get rid of them. Anyway, first sign of spring. It won't be long now, my boy!"

"Yes, thank you!" Adler exclaimed. He shared Erich's enthusiasm. The first flower of springtime was always a beautiful sight to him, even if it was just one produced by a humble pioneering weed. More desirable spring flowers, the ones that were cultivated and wanted by the myriads of gardeners all over the Island, couldn't be far behind, and with it would come the return of the warm season and the tourist jobs he'd come to love. He'd been quite excited after that about getting back to the roundhouse to pass on his crew's finding. No one else had yet spotted a spring blossom, he was sure of it, although almost every engine he knew had begun hopefully eyeing any patches of likely bare ground revealed as the winter snow melted away, just in case.

Then, to add to his joy, he saw the Doyons in the process of leaving the shed just when he was backing in himself later on, and Erich, who at that moment had to be the kindest, smartest, and greatest engine driver in the whole wide world, yelled his greetings at them, followed up with an inquiry as to whether Denise mightn't like to take Adler out that evening…it'd been such a pleasant day already and not even all that cold. And Denise had said yes! Adler's anticipation had soared to such heights after that that he'd begun to ramble on in Berlinisch while the younger Dornwirth, Dieter, tried to clean his face.

"Will you shut up a minute?" he'd finally said between laughs. "How am I supposed to get you looking spiffy for your big date if you keep babbling on? I can't even make out half of what you're saying anyway!"

Adler dutifully did as told, holding his mouth still so Dieter could complete wiping away the day's grime. At least there weren't any smashed bugs to clean up yet. That was one of the few advantages of cold-weather work—no flying insects. Once done with the washing and drying, Dieter rubbed Adler's face with a piece of chamois that had a little oil on it. It seemed to help keep the amorphous alloy surface in good condition and gave it a nice-feeling finish.

Erich himself fired in a little more coal to keep the engine's pressures up just before the two men left and Denise showed up only minutes later. She'd changed into warm civilian clothes, including a goofy-looking tuque and matching mitts, and was carrying a blanket and a thermos full of steaming hot spearmint tea, everything she needed to spend a couple of quality personal hours with one of her favourite engines. Adler watched her approach happily. She always talked to him if she saw him in the sheds just as she talked to all the locomotives, but this would be the first time this year that the two of them would go off together for one of their more private conversations, a 'date' of sorts as Dieter had put it.

Their little excursions had arisen out of Adler's need to confide in someone when he'd first come to Sodor. Turning to a human was new for him, but he'd sensed that he could trust his new driver and she'd made the offer to help and was the only person around who could speak German with him at the time, which encouraged him. Their initial talks had been hard and Adler had often become very emotional. Even if the other engines in the shed couldn't understand them, Denise hadn't wanted the others to see their new shed-mate so distraught and had begun taking him out to a quiet nearby siding for privacy's sake. To help calm things down after their sessions and if there was time, she would move her engine afterwards to one of two sidings sited north of Knapford and close to the coastline, from where they could watch the sun set to finish off their evening. The siding closest to the water offered an exceptionally scenic view and was next to a walking path which many Knapford residents used on nice evenings. The other siding also provided a nice view of the ocean, yet was distant enough from the path and any residences that they didn't have to worry about being overheard. Adler's crisis eventually faded and he did find a measure of peace. He also found himself with his first-ever human friend whose company he enjoyed so much that he never wanted their talks to end.

On this evening, Adler wanted to talk about Lammergeier and they thus chose to park in the more distant siding, for privacy. He'd told Denise about his impassioned plea to his brother up at Bridlington some time ago and was disappointed that nothing had changed since then.

"I don't know what else I can do," he related miserably. "I'm so afraid he's going to do something really stupid and be sent away. Has Christophe said anything to you at all about how he's doing? Does he have any idea of what's wrong with him?"

"I know he's got a couple of theories he's running with. The problem is, he thinks whatever happened to change Lammergeier's attitudes took place over a number of years. It may also take a long time to turn him around again, not years, hopefully, but a while."

Adler looked glum. "I just hope he doesn't get into trouble in the meantime. He just gets mad nowadays if I try and interest him in the tourist work coming up. He didn't even really like the holiday work we did around Christmas. I don't understand why. Everyone really enjoyed the way he looked and the both of us were always kept busy and got tons of compliments."

Denise stroked the engine's brow sympathetically. "Don't worry," she told him. "If anyone can figure him out, it's Christophe. You couldn't ask for a more experienced person when it comes to understanding you locomotives, and that Surendra's a pretty smart cookie too. And he can't keep up the brooding loner act for much longer—I mean, your brother was quite social when he first came here, wasn't he?"

"He _is_ social!" Adler insisted. "He used to keep me and Habicht laughing for hours sometimes when we were stabled together back in Berlin."

"Well, there you go. We'll have that Lammergeier back eventually, I'm sure of it. He can't deny his true nature forever."

Poor Adler began to calm down. It was so good to have someone to talk to who understood his concerns and who knew Lammergeier. He wouldn't have felt right discussing his sibling with the other engines.

"Did you see the way he looked at us when we left the roundhouse?" Adler said. "He just hates it when we go off together after work."

"I saw. I hope he's not still giving you grief about it."

"No. I made it very clear last year when we had the fight that I wouldn't tolerate his trying to interfere in my friendships, even if it was with you humans. All he's done since then is give me dirty looks."

"Well, good. Let him see what he's missing out on…"

Denise rubbed his forehead some more and Adler felt his tension fading away all the more. He'd never known until coming to Sodor what power a human touch had, that it could soothe and comfort one so completely. He'd always cooperated when being groomed or maintained and had typically found such ministrations tolerable and sometimes enjoyable, depending on who was doing the work. But this was different. This was someone touching him out of pure affection and a desire to ease his pain and it was a very nice feeling indeed.

Adler could still remember the exact day when everything had changed for him. It was the day after the evening when he'd first been brought down to Knapford to start living in the new roundhouse. There had only been four other shed residents back then, the three Canadian engines and Henry, who was only living there temporarily. Adler had only been able to exchange pleasantries and a little chitchat before it got too late to say much more that first night and when he woke up again in the morning, Henry was already gone and the other three engines soon left for work as well.

Just before lunchtime, Henry was brought back with his coal and water already topped up for the following day's work and dripping wet from just having gone through the washdown over by the Knapford yard. His crew could, of course, have washed Henry themselves in the roundhouse's own washdown area, but letting the Knapford workers do the big job saved time they liked to invest in the finishing touches, like cleaning Henry's face and polishing his paintwork. Adler watched with interest as the two humans cared for their resting engine. He already approved of the idea of using the same people who drove and fired him to tend to his grooming and minor routine maintenance needs as well, rather than using separate shed workers. It just seemed like a good way to get to know his crew a little better, to be able to interact with them when they were all off duty in a sense.

As it was with himself, it was the woman, Denise, who did the job of cleaning Henry's face. Adler did not know Henry very well yet, but he already had the sense that for all his size and strength, Henry was a rather nervous engine and a little timid. He suspected that he could be easily startled, yet under the soothing hands of his two handlers, Henry was as relaxed and calm as could be and closed his eyes with perfect trust, which Adler thought a nice thing to see. All engines hoped for kind crews who could be trusted. A sure and gentle hand on one's controls made even the hardest work easier to bear and gave a loco confidence, and it seemed that Henry was lucky enough to have found that with his own crew.

But there was more to it this time, far more than Adler could have imagined. Like the 48's own running board, Henry's extended out from beneath his face and forward a good bit to cover his foremost leading axel, which made it very easy to get up close and personal with him. Denise had already set a row of backup water buckets on the edge of Henry's running board right above his buffer beam before ever getting up on him. When she briefly turned her back to Henry to exchange one of her spent bucketfuls of water for a fresh one midway through her task, Henry opened his eyes for his own brief moment and fixed upon her a look of such melting honest adoration that Adler, who was still watching, almost jolted back a wheel-turn in his shock.

Why, he loves that human! he thought, astonished. A flush of emotion tinged Adler's cheeks. He thought he must have been seeing things or had misinterpreted, but later, when Denise switched a second set of buckets, Henry did it again, gazing after her with such loving intensity that Adler almost felt embarrassed. This was simply not something which was part of his world. The humans were his masters, to be obeyed without question, and he had always tried his best to be a good and faithful servant to them and had taken pleasure in his servitude. The thought that there could perhaps be more to it than that was weird, exciting, and confusing in turn.

When Denise was finally done with Henry, she stepped over and leaned in to rest her head against the side of Henry's cheek for a moment. Then Pierre came forward from shining up the paintwork over Henry's boiler and he too rubbed the engine's forehead with obvious affection while saying something to him that made him smile. Both humans worked on his running board after that to get its surface gleaming white and clean before climbing down to finish up in his cab. Henry even enjoyed these more remote sensations. He appeared to be monitoring what his crew was doing throughout the remainder of his cleaning session, his eyes half-closed and introspective, a slight smile continuing to tug at his mouth at intervals.

Adler didn't know what to think. He'd never considered that an engine could have a personal relationship with a human being akin to what existed between engine friends. Even a partnership in a working sense seemed as though it might infringe upon the long-established conventions which existed between men and locomotives. But he wasn't through having his long-held notions rocked that day just yet…

While the Doyons were off to have lunch, Justin also came back in, done for the day as well. Adler could already tell that Justin was quite a different sort than Henry. His tall build and streamlining gave him a somewhat imposing air, yet his attractive face had such an open and friendly expression that no one was ever put off by his looks. He'd been very well spoken during the brief conversation Adler had had with him the evening before and seemed intelligent and confident, and the 48 could well believe that Justin had once served his country's top government officials, according to what the Doyons had told him. Francois, one of the other Canadians, had done the same work, supposedly, and the last of them, Guy, was a freight and snow plowing specialist; those two were still relative unknowns. Still, they'd likewise seemed friendly and Adler was looking forward to getting to know them better. For now, however, Henry and Justin were it.

Justin's crew, unfortunately, did not linger with their engine that day and Adler didn't get to observe anything out of the ordinary in their interactions. He shifted his focus to watching for Denise and Pierre to return instead. Adler enjoyed working and was enough of a newbie on the Island that every trip out still meant discovering something exciting and brand new. He hoped that he'd get to chuff down one of the lines he hadn't seen yet or maybe his crew would get him to deliver something that afternoon to a station as yet unfamiliar to him. And here his crew came, striding down the steps off the deck in front of the humans' lounge and service area, walking across the Canadians' tracks, passing by—

" _Je t'aime, mon cher! Je t'aime, Pierre!_ "

Adler froze. _What_ had that engine just said?

He watched in disbelief as the humans merely laughed in response and Denise briefly went over to Justin to speak with him. "Saucy thing," Adler overheard her murmur to him in French as she patted him. "We love you too." Then she scampered back over to her husband's side and carried on. Adler was far too flabbergasted to say anything about what he'd just witnessed and the humans didn't say anything about it either. He had to wait until he came back to the sheds that evening and everyone who was non-loco had cleared out for the night before he dared approach the subject with Justin himself.

"Vhat you said to Miz Denise and Mister Pierre earlier today," he'd asked. "Vhen you said you loved zem… Don't zhey mind you sayink somezing like zat in public?"

"Mind?" Justin responded, sounding perplexed. "Why on Earth would they mind? They're a good crew, I'm very fond of them, and I like to express my appreciation in the only way I can. It's not as though I can go to a gift shop and buy them a card, after all."

"I wish I could express my appreciation," said Henry in a tiny voice, which made Justin shift his attention for the moment and regard his green shed-mate with sympathy.

"Don't you worry about that, Henry," he said to him. "Everyone here can see how much you care for your crew and I'm sure that they can see it too. You don't always have to verbalize your feelings for them to be obvious."

Henry looked back at his friend gratefully and Adler felt quite impressed. He'd known more than a few engines who would have ridiculed anyone admitting to an inadequacy, especially one of a personal nature, but the locos in this shed all seemed uniformly kind and supportive of one another. The 48 was glad. He could do with a bit of kindness and support in his life himself.

Justin, meanwhile, had gone back to studying the German engine with interest and further considering his initial question. "The railroading world you were born into back in Germany, it was rather officious, wasn't it?" he guessed. "Everything very professional and businesslike? Everyone knew their place and kept it? Well, it's a little different back in Canada and here too. Our interactions with the humans aren't as formal as what you were used to and people in general take a lot more interest in us as individuals and consider us part of the community. Did Pierre and Denise give you their spiel yet about being available to talk and seeing to it that you were happy—that it was part of their jobs?"

Adler blinked. " _Ja._ "

"I suggest you take advantage of that. It's a fine thing to have human friends. They know a lot and can broaden your world."

"I second zet," Francois spoke up. "You can learn very much from ze humans. Zey are entertaining to try and understand too."

His shed-mates' final words left Adler in a very thoughtful state. He began watching any other engines he saw very carefully from then on, noting how they related to all the people they came across during the course of their days and how the humans in turn viewed them. And it was true, what Justin had said. The atmosphere was different here, it just was. After a few days, Adler felt encouraged enough to ask his new driver for the first time if she could help him with some of his more troubling memories. It had been the start of the most rewarding—and surprising—relationship he'd ever known.

The subject of his most rewarding relationship was still caressing and soothing him now. Lammergeier had become a source of real concern for Adler, but at least he would talk to Denise about it and that, plus a little reassurance, usually served to unburden the poor engine and calm him down. What the woman wouldn't do for him was share her own concerns. She'd filled in for Christophe twice during the winter once Lammergeier resumed his snowplowing and general work and she hadn't liked what she'd seen at all. He still worked as well as ever, but there seemed an almost obsessive quality to it now; he was wound far too tight, in her estimation. And he was much cooler with her, so much so that she almost wished for a return of the days when she'd had to put up with his occasional obnoxious charm. Ah well, he was Christophe's problem now. Denise had enough on her hands tending to the fallout suffered by Adler.

Luckily, Adler was a resilient fellow, as most engines were, and once his worries had been expressed and sympathized with, he was able to move on to discuss more enjoyable subjects. He told Denise all about Erich finding the coltsfoot flower and how much he anticipated the coming spring and seeing his coach friends again. His eyes shone as he related how he'd caught a glimpse of The Flying Scotsman leaving up at Vicarstown the day before and he wondered aloud if his old Controller from Berlin, Mister Moderhack, would be able to ride on Flying Scotsman's train come summer, as he'd wanted to. Denise felt her own concerns ebb away as she listened to Adler. This was what engines were supposed to be like, easily pleased by the simplest of things.

The setting sun was nearing the horizon. The two of them gave up talking and Denise sat down on the folded blanket she'd set on Adler's running board next to his face and poured herself a cup of herbal tea. The wonderful scent of mint wafted through the cold early evening air. Denise used one hand to hold her cup as she sipped from it and reached the other over to gently trace the outlines of Adler's mouth. It was his special spot. He was the only loco she'd ever known who liked having his lips rubbed and played with.

They watched the sun sink out of sight together in perfect silence.

Once the last rays of sunlight had given way to deepening twilight, Denise sighed and got back up on her feet. She looked Adler over and was satisfied with what she saw and gave him a last scritch between his brows. The engine gazed back at her, content, his eyes beautifully soft. Adi was her earnest one. Once he'd opened himself up to the possibility of loving a human being, he'd become intensely curious and a little anxious about what such a relationship entailed and how it was meant to proceed. The anxiety was mostly gone by now, but his curiosity remained.

"I'm glad I'm a locomotive," he suddenly exclaimed.

Denise, who was just in the process of stopping up her now empty thermos and screwing on its top, smiled at her engine friend before temporarily setting her thermos back down on her blanket. Adler's impulsive statement deserved her full attention.

"Okay, I'll bite. Why are you glad you're a locomotive?"

"Because we couldn't have this if I were a human man…could we?"

The woman was pleased by his insight. She knew that the subject of human social mores was very difficult for him, although he was always asking her questions about it. Sometimes she was hard-pressed to come up with explanations he could understand.

"You're right," she answered now. "If you were the human equivalent of what you are now, male and adult, we could still be casual friends and even quite fond of each other. We could enjoy lots of chat and have coffee together at work, maybe even have lunch sometimes in a public space, especially if part of a larger group…that would all be fine. But going off like this on our own, with Pierre nowhere in sight…very inappropriate."

Adler had pursed his mouth a little and knit his brows together in his intense concentration as he followed along. Denise thought of it as his 'thinking' face and that it made him look very cute.

"It's inappropriate…because you are married," he said.

"Yes! That changes everything for us. If you knew I was married, even this imaginary human version of you trying to profess your love for me would be considered inappropriate. You'd have to keep your feelings to yourself—you remember how we talked about unrequited love. If you couldn't do that, if you insisted on speaking out regardless, I'd have to try and put you off and maybe even get Pierre involved."

The 48 sighed. Humans had so many strange rules regulating how they socialized with one another! It was so much easier for locomotives—two engines either liked each other or they didn't.

"I understand. But Pierre is all right with this as long as it's me as I am. An engine."

"Well, sure. Don't forget that he's very fond of you too. He wants to see you happy and he knows it makes me happy to have this friendship with you. And of course he's still getting his jollies out of it over at the tavern with his buddies, the lot of them still trying to fool every poor new sap that shows up into feeling sorry for Pierre because his shameless hussy wife's off running around with her German boyfriend again. In public, even!"

"The German boyfriend," Adler murmured to himself. He liked it. It made him sound exotic and a little dangerous. Aloud, he added, "I think Pierre likes being a little naughty."

"Try a lot naughty. The last guy him and his buddies tricked got so mad when he found out that you were a locomotive that he and Pierre almost got into a fistfight. Of course, he'd probably enjoy that too. I saw Pierre deck a guy once, knocked him right off his chair and onto the floor with one punch. Oh well…I love him anyway."

She looked at the engine's face and they gazed into each other's eyes, both smiling, perfectly united at the moment in their understanding of just how lovable a naughty person, whether human or locomotive, could be. Adler liked hearing Denise say that she loved her husband, even when he'd been misbehaving a little. It reassured the big 48 that she'd likewise remain fond of him no matter what he did or didn't do.

"So, Pierre is definitely all right with this," Adler persisted, just to clarify the issue for himself, and Denise regarded him more warmly than ever.

"Adi, as long as Pierre doesn't have to worry about coming home and finding you in bed with me, I can guarantee you that he will be just fine with our relationship," she said to him, and that, as far as she was concerned, was that.

The 48, on the other hand, whose machine mine processed information in a far more literal manner than did a human being's, immediately began considering what Denise had just told him, envisioning his long body trying to fit onto one of the little platforms he knew humans typically favoured for sleeping upon. The proportions involved didn't bode well at all.

"No, that would not work. I am far too large," he concluded in a sober tone. He considered the situation again, scouting about for a possible solution. "Well…maybe I could do it if I were a miniature engine. And left my tender parked out by the curb."

His eyes suddenly flew wide open as the full implications of what he'd just suggested struck him. He looked to Denise, fearful that he might have just offended her, and saw that she was wearing the same wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression as he was. Then, she giggled. And giggled some more. A moment later she was laughing so hard that she had to lean against the side of his face and brace herself with a hand on his cheek to avoid staggering back and falling off his running board. And underneath it all rumbled the deep happy chuckle of the locomotive, who was delighted that he'd finally been able to say something which so amused her.

Denise saved the story until the next time she, Pierre and Christophe were hosting Surendra for supper, and as she expected, the three men found it as amusing as she had. Once the laughter died down, Christophe said, "Now, see? This is a perfect example of the difference between those two. Adi enjoys being a locomotive because he's completely at ease with his limitations and he's also clever enough to appreciate the advantages and liberties it affords him. Lammergeier…well, the only time his locomotive self seems to bring him any pleasure is when he immerses himself in his work and shifts over into autopilot and stops thinking. The rest of the time…not so good."

"Still not any friendlier?" asked Pierre. "Even now?"

"Nope. It's still strictly business between us, especially me. He doesn't like me at all. He's a little better with Surendra. At least he'll get a little droopy and let his eyelids fall to half-mast when Surendra's cleaning him up. With me, though, he acts like he expects me to smack him any second when I'm up around his face, just really guarded all the time."

"You are the one who typically disciplines him," Surendra pointed out. "I'm the good cop."

"Well, sure, but no engine ought to resent being fairly disciplined when he's misbehaving, not that he does so very often anymore, but still… He never resents Denise trying to smarten him up."

The so-named human in question snorted. "That's because he never listens to me."

"He listened to you when we took him out that first time, although he did yank you around some at the beginning," Christophe said.

"True. And he was out moving on the rails for the first time in years… Huh." She reconsidered her words. "Guess that was him being in work mode, or locomotive mode, more like. He does listen then, more or less. It's him being in Lammergeier mode that winds me up and makes me want to crack him one sometimes, like when he made that scene later to get Sir Topham to come aboard. He could care less what I say to him at times like that."

"Heh, Lammergeier mode," Pierre chortled. His wife grinned.

"You know what I mean. It's when he forgets he's a locomotive and starts talking and acting like a wannabe human, not that I believe for one second that he actually wants to be human…" (She missed the startled glances Christophe and Surendra exchanged at that point.) "…but he sure acts like he expects to be treated like one at times."

"He _does_ think like a human," said Surendra.

"Yet has the heart of a locomotive," Christophe added. "He must, in order to work so well. You two were right on that call. He's got all the innate programming inside him that a locomotive needs or ought to have to be a first-class working engine, but sometimes… It's like there's two versions of him, compliant and contrary. Or as you say, locomotive mode and Lammergeier mode," he concluded, smiling. "Ah well, it does make him an interesting fellow to work with. We'll wear him down eventually, I'm sure of it."

"Or he'll wear you down," Denise warned. "He's pretty stubborn and determined."

Unfortunately, she had no idea of how prophetic her words were to become…

to be continued...


	11. Tipping Point

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Eleven - Tipping Point

Spring marched on. It rained off and on and sometimes there was still wet snow mixed in with the raindrops, yet on the whole the world was warming up, preparing itself for a new season of growth. The earth stirred with early life. The first shoots of snowdrops and crocuses pushed out and reached for the sunlight. Tufts of grass began to green up in the most sheltered spots tucked up against buildings and next to the rails. And everywhere people were smiling and began to look for excuses to spend more time outside. It was spring.

With the frost coming out of the ground, building projects that had been put on hold last fall began to resume and many new undertakings began. There were rooves to patch, fences to mend, all manner of repair jobs to attend to. New outbuildings and barns, culverts, retaining walls, terraces…the need for supplies was endless and the engines were kept busy making small deliveries all over the Island. The foreign locos in the Knapford shed, most of whom tended to sit idle a lot outside of the tourist season, were especially happy to get out and make themselves useful. They enjoyed the opportunity to socialize as they went about their jobs and liked helping to spread the workload.

The only engine who didn't feel this way was, as usual, Lammergeier. He didn't appreciate the leisurely pace of making small local deliveries. The work was never anywhere near hard enough to absorb him or require his undivided attention and the people receiving the goods tended to unload everything slowly and insist on chatting incessantly throughout. Christophe and Surendra just made it worse. Both men were friendly and enjoyed meeting the locals and learning about their lives. Instead of moving promptly off to the next job, they'd often dawdle to yak with people about nothing at all, which irritated Lammergeier beyond belief. But what could he do? He knew that Christophe wouldn't tolerate any shows of temper or impatience, and Surendra, though kinder, would just frown at him and look disappointed if he tried to act up.

Then came what had to be the delivery day from hell. It began during their first and biggest job of the day, transporting several flatbeds loaded with culvert pipes from Brendam Docks up to Vicarstown. They'd barely gotten underway once out in the countryside when they found their track blocked by cows.

Christophe eased Lammergeier to a stop and Surendra comically cracked his knuckles, hopped down out of the cab, and got to work. If there was one thing he knew, it was cattle. He walked towards the herd poking about for clumps of fresh spring grass near the rails and began slowly flapping his arms and whistling at them in a peculiar way. The boss cow shook her horns at him and switched her tail to let him know that she didn't appreciate a stranger trying to shift her, but then gave in and moved imperiously off into a nearby field, followed by the other cows. Surendra stayed by the track to make sure that nobody changed their minds until Lammergeier chuffed far enough ahead to clear the danger zone before he ran ahead and climbed back aboard.

"Well done," Christophe said, grinning. "Krishna would be proud."

"He would, wouldn't he? We'd better stop at the first station we come to, to call this in. I don't even know where they came from. The field they're in now isn't fenced and I didn't see any downed gates anywhere."

"We'll stop at the next station," Christophe agreed.

Of course, his crew's conscientious ways only put Lammergeier behind schedule all the more and he never did make up the time. Then there was a problem picking up their next delivery in Vicarstown. The shunting engines in the goods yard there couldn't find his laden trucks for a while. One of the shunter's drivers had to finally confer with the yardmaster before the train was located on the wrong siding and after that there was no brake van available for an additional half hour. Christophe and Surendra were fine with that and just parked Lammergeier over on one of the less-used tracks up at the station and used their unexpected spare time to fill up on sticky buns and tea and chat with the station guards while they waited, but Lammergeier was so aggravated by the delay that he had to make a real effort to remain outwardly calm. He fumed steadily as the minutes ticked by, unable to understand how the humans all around him could take it all so lightly, his eyes growing harder and harder.

The goods on the 48's new train were intended for three separate drop-off points located in the Island's hilly interior. It turned into a leisurely trip on a lovely afternoon, one that was windless and utterly clear though still quite crisp, especially at altitude. Lammergeier had to climb and then descend some pretty steep grades and the mostly rural landscapes were often spectacular to the men's appreciative eyes, even though everything had yet to green up and look its best. Their last delivery was in a village called Kirk Machen, after which they continued northward to a much larger town named Peel Godred where they exchanged their now empty trucks and the brake van for another flatbed piled high with sundry construction materials secured under a tarp. By now they were very late by some hours, but nobody really cared. As long as the deliveries were made by the end of the day, that was good enough for the people awaiting their freight.

The flatbed was meant to be dropped off in the seaside town of Arlesburgh again, specifically the Arlesburgh West station, which Christophe and Surendra thought would be a great place to finish off their day's work; chuffing along the western coastline of Sodor near sunset was always a treat. The men therefore picked a rather circuitous route to get to their last destination, meaning to enjoy the last of their nice day as long as possible.

Naturally, they couldn't help but incur one last holdup. As they were waiting for the all clear to leave their platform right after their flatbed had been uncoupled and shunted away, a nearby station workman ferrying along a cart piled high with cases of bottled sodas suddenly lost control of his load. The wheeled cart took an abrupt swerve towards the tracks, the workman, startled, jerked the cart to a stop, and the topmost cases on the pile teetered, slid, and tumbled down onto the tracks right in front of Lammergeier with a resounding crash and tinkle of breaking glass.

The station guard instantly blew his whistle to freeze the about-to-depart engine in place. Several more workmen ran up to inspect the damage. Surendra and Christophe both poked their heads out of their cab to see what was going on. When they saw why they'd been ordered to halt, all they could do was laugh. It figured.

Christophe wound up climbing down out of his engine and going forward to monitor the action for himself while Surendra remained aboard to mind Lammergeier. There were already three men down on the tracks handing the bottles that had survived intact up to another guy on the platform and sweeping up the broken glass and dumping it into buckets. It was a mess, but a mess the station workers already had well in hand. Christophe appreciated that they were working quickly to get him and his engine underway again.

He absently put his hand on the edge of Lammergeier's foremost running board and stroked him as he waited. "Not our day today, my boy," he remarked. "Well, at least the weather's decent. It could have been—"

He snapped his mouth shut. Under his hand, he could feel a strange, almost imperceptible quiver running through the metal at intervals. He'd never felt anything like it.

Carefully, keeping his face turned forward and looking only out of the corner of one eye, Christophe examined Lammergeier's face.

The engine was grinding his teeth. And his expression… Like a gardener discovering a fresh rat hole under his garden shed, Pierre had said. Lammergeier looked ready to exterminate his rats.

A black feeling fell over the back of Christophe's neck. He began patting the engine, hard, and spoke loudly to the three men down on the tracks. "Boy, bet you can count on one hand how often this has happened to you guys."

The eldest-looking of the trio looked up, smiling cheerfully. "Oh, we've had plenty fall on the tracks now 'n' then, lots of paper and such. But summat we've gotta clean up right aways like this? You're right. Maybe twice before in the twenty years I've been working here."

"You've been here twenty years? I wouldn't have guessed. Always this same station, or…?"

"This'n and the one in town for the little engines. I lives here in Arlesburgh, you see."

"Well, you're lucky. It's lovely. Has it changed much since you first started working here?"

They chatted on, Christophe still patting his engine on occasion. The tremours he'd felt had stopped quite early on during his conversation and when he finally stole another glance at Lammergeier's face, he saw that the loco had gone back to looking bored and disinterested as he watched the men finish their clean-up. One of them came right up to the 48's buffers and leaned down to sweep a piece of glass out from beneath him. It vividly demonstrated how close all the station workers were. A single lunge forward of only twenty-five feet would put all three of them under Lammergeier's leading axels.

The workers finally got all the debris picked up and the engine and his crew were cleared to carry on. Christophe turned to his colleague as soon as he got back in the cab. "I'll take him," he said.

Surendra raised an eyebrow as he relinquished the driver's position. He and Christophe had been sharing driving duties equally since the weather had warmed up and he'd been piloting Lammergeier through all his afternoon work that day.

"Is, er, something wrong?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," Christophe muttered.

He didn't dare say any more, given Lammergeier's tendency to eavesdrop. And even if it'd been safe to talk, he wasn't sure what more he could have added anyway; it wasn't as though the engine had actually done anything. Still, he was glad he'd taken the controls.

Lammergeier didn't even notice that his drivers had switched duties again. He was in a very precarious state. The day's long string of delays, one on top of another, had accumulated to form a vast weight in his mind which lay poised on a tipping point.

They chuffed on down the line. The sun had dipped low in the sky and it was already colder. It was going to be a hazy, golden evening and there was still no wind to speak of, barely a ripple on the waters. They came up on Bluff's Cove. And whether it was just happenstance or the sight of the station triggering memories of his successful past rebellion, the weight in Lammergeier's mind suddenly toppled over onto the side of madness.

He bolted, his throttle instantly slapping wide open, catching his driver by complete surprise even though Christophe had had a vague sense that something might happen ever since they'd been held up at Arlesburgh. He grabbed for the engine's brake and then the steam valves, but it was already too late—Lammergeier had frozen all his controls. His speedy, admirable acceleration was now terrifying. Christophe knew they had only seconds left during which they could bail with any hope of not injuring themselves too badly. Surendra was staring at him, waiting for a decision. He'd tried to close off the air flow to the engine's fire, to starve it out, but Lammergeier had thought of that too and his fireman was now at a loss and very scared. He'd never been on a runaway before.

Christophe was luckier. He'd been aboard two runaways in the past and they'd been genuine ones involving mechanical failures, which frightened the engines as badly as their crews. In those two instances, Christophe had elected to remain aboard and had eventually gotten his loco stopped without anyone being hurt or any damage being done. But this was different. This was every railway worker's nightmare, an engine in full steam running himself up into a full-throttle charge, refusing commands, impossible to control.

"Lammergeier! Stop! Stop now! _Arretez!_ "

Nothing. As expected. Christophe accessed the railway map he kept in his mind. The coastal branch line between Arlesburgh and Tidmouth was very scenic, yet had its dangers. It was prone to being lashed by storm winds and freezing spray in the winter wherever the tracks ran right next to the ocean and some of the cliffside drop-offs were very steep and close. Several emergency sidings with buffer stops and sand traps had been added to both sides of the line for precautionary use should a locomotive build up too much speed and be unable to stop on icy rails, and one of them should be…

Christophe leaned out of his cab window, looking for the siding. Wind whistled past his face as he did so. Lammergeier was already going far too fast for them to safely bail anymore. Christophe next studied the engine's brake cluster. Lammergeier actually had several brakes, the main one which was typically used throughout the average day, and two others which could be applied to either his left- or right-hand driving arrays alone. The one-sided brakes were rarely used—Christophe himself had never used them—and he was hoping that Lammergeier might have forgotten about them. He looked to Surendra and pointed at one of the one-sided brake levers without touching it and saw with relief that his fireman already understood what he meant to do.

Christophe looked out again. The siding was there, coming up. He watched, counting off the distance left, waiting until the last possible second, then lunged for the brake lever. Surendra added his own hands and both men hauled back with all their strength.

The lever shifted! The engine had forgotten! A horrible screech of grinding metal arose as his left-hand wheels stuttered and seized. The brake lever abruptly jerked out of the men's hands as Lammergeier realized what was happening and took control of it, but then came the sudden sideways jolt as his front axels were forced over. "Down!" Christophe cried, diving for the floor, curling up on his side and trying to press his back against the cab's front wall, and Surendra barely had time to copy him before the engine's leading wheels and then his first drivers were dragging through the sand that had been dumped on the siding track before he slammed into the buffer stop.

The sand trap did its job of decelerating the big 48 some before his scarce-controlled collision. Lammergeier survived and stayed on the rails. Barely. His crew survived too—they'd been better prepared to absorb the shock and Christophe was able to scramble back up on his feet almost at once and grabbed for the brakes again. This time he could set them without resistance. Lammergeier had likely been stunned by the sudden stop. The little engineer darted back and forth in the cab, twisting open the controls to vent and dump the loco's steam while he still could.

"Damp his fire. Quick! While he's out of it," he called to Surendra, who'd just regained his feet a good deal more slowly than had Christophe. But he did as told, completing what he'd tried to do earlier. Great clouds of steam whooshed out past the cab windows as the men worked. For a few seconds they felt as though they were standing inside a cage within an erupting geyser. As soon as enough pressure had been bled off and it was safe again, Christophe tugged on Surendra's arm and got him to quit the cab with him.

They made sure to stumble a safe distance away before turning around to look at the loco. Lammergeier was still venting, but it was down to roiling mists instead of great white clouds. Even if he took charge of his controls again, he wouldn't get far anymore with his pressures so low and his fire dying. Christophe looked him over more critically. The buffer stop looked a touch creaky, but Lammergeier himself appeared at first glance completely undamaged.

A slow rage of his own began to gather within Christophe. With the immediate danger over, he had time to think, and he was thinking about the curves the tracks on ahead took where they ran right next to the sea on a bed cut into the coastal cliffs. Curved tracks were every ten-wheeler's weakness. The sharper they were, the slower and more carefully such a loco had to proceed to negotiate them, and Lammergeier had been racing like a crazy thing, probably heading for home. The more he thought about what could have happened, the angrier Christophe became. The 48 would have derailed. He might have rolled over, across the opposing track and right off the cliff and into the water. Anyone left aboard could have been battered to death. Or tossed out of the cab and pulped between the rocks and the engine's tumbling body…

His colleague suddenly went down on the ground, catching himself with one hand, going over onto one haunch.

"Surendra!"

He waved Christophe away with the hand he wasn't using to prop himself. "I'm all right," Surendra insisted. "I'm just…shaken." He tried to smile, weakly. "I've never been on a runaway before."

The sight of his friend, who was always so good-hearted and decent, forced to sit down due to the fright he'd just taken was the last straw for Christophe. He whirled about and turned on Lammergeier with murder in his heart.

"All right! That's it! I have HAD it with you."

He jolted to a stop. The engine's eyes were vacant. He was still gathering his senses. Christophe stood there stewing while Lammergeier finished shaking off his shock, and it was a good thing for the engine that he took his time about it for it allowed his driver to get control of his own emotions before addressing him again.

When Lammergeier finally did regain his senses, he looked wildly about, taking in his new surroundings, spotted Christophe standing there and glaring at him, and instantly looked away and assumed the sour, sullen, angry expression that had become his norm as of late. The engine's refusal to look at all appalled or even concerned about what he'd just done struck Christophe as unbelievable.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" he exclaimed.

Lammergeier tried to ignore him. If anything, he just looked madder.

"Lammergeier! Explain yourself!"

Still nothing. But he was starting to flush, and it had nothing to do with excess steam.

"I swear, if you do not tell us right now what is going on with you, you will never move on this railway under your own power ever again!"

"No…"

"No? No what? You think we can trust you now? Tell us!"

The engine started working his mouth, blinking rapidly.

"Lammergeier, for pete's— Okay, look! If it helps, this won't go any further. Just you and us two. No one else. But you have got to explain yourself. Now!"

"No."

"That's not an option anymore. Damn it, Lammergeier, we're trying to help you!"

"No! No, you are not."

"What's that? We're not trying to help you? What are you talking about? We care about you!"

"You do not care. You don't!" Lammergeier flung back, his temper breaking at last. "You treat us like slaves!"

"Slaves! Are you crazy? We don't treat you like slaves."

"Yes you do! Yes you do! Ve are nozing but metal slaves to you, _zu_ order around _und_ use _und_ use _und_ use vhenever you like. _Und_ zhen, vhen you are tired of us or don't vant us anymore, you put us avay _und_ ignore us like garbage, nozing but scrap garbage left out on ze sidings!"

"Lammergeier… We don't…"

"Yes, you do zhat! You do! You do!" the loco shrieked, completely beside himself in his sudden boiling fury. He was starting to cry, but Christophe could tell they were just tears of frustrated outrage, rolling down his contorted face. The man went silent, listening in shock as the engine, with all his inhibitions and ingrained self-preservation finally shattered, raged on.

"You make us to serve you, ze same as any slave. Our lives mean nozing to you, nozing at all! You vant us for vork, but vhen zere iz any danger for you, you vould rather run avay _und_ leave us alone _und_ out in ze open to die _und_ zhen make more of us. Zhat iz all ve are to you, machines to replace!"

Good God, the flatbed! thought Christophe. They were loading him on a flatbed in some rail yard when there was an air raid and everyone had to run for cover! Lammergeier's unexpected show of fear upon being lowered onto the flatbed that had removed him from the French scrapyard months ago now made perfect sense. Out in the open, elevated and helpless, a perfect target, the bombs raining down all around him…the engine would have been terrified and traumatized. Even coming through such an ordeal physically unscathed wouldn't have mattered with Lammergeier. It was the abandonment and being left unprotected which would have left its mark regardless, whipping up his earliest feelings of resentment towards humanity for everything they'd been inflicting on him.

"I hate you for doing zhat!" Lammergeier cried, still weeping in his frustration. "Vhat right do you hef _zu_ make us _und_ make us vork for you? _Und_ throw us avay _und_ cut us up vhen you don't vant us anymore? _Es ist…ist eine Ungerechtigkeit. Ein Greuel!_ "

In his mounting hysteria, Lammergeier switched abruptly back to German without seeming to realize it, and what the engine said to his crew after that, with a whole vocabulary at his disposal with which to berate them…well, it was probably better for the men that they couldn't understand him. Christophe had seen only two people in his whole life lose it in a similar fashion and that was the point; if he hadn't known better, he would have sworn that he was listening to a fellow human being in the midst of suffering a nervous breakdown. His own anger began to subside beneath a wave of growing astonishment. He watched the engine continue to rave on in his native language, his mouth a little open in his disbelief, and Surendra appeared no less dumbfounded.

Eventually, even Lammergeier ran out of vitriol and spite. He started to cry in earnest instead. It was terrible to watch. Engines wept like children, throwing the whole of their iron hearts into it, and his tears were real this time, tears of bitter regret and self-pity and fear, because Lammergeier knew full well that what he'd done was unforgivable. Even Christophe was soon uncomfortable and felt a little sorry for the 48, although he was otherwise glad to see his long withheld emotions and tensions finally pouring out of him in a literal cathartic flood.

"Lammergeier…please stop crying. It's true that we're very angry and disappointed with you right now, but it's also good that you've finally told us what your issues with us are. We can work with that."

The engine just sobbed harder than ever. "I tell you," he wept, " _und_ now you vill kill me."

Christophe felt an actual stab of pain run through him. Was this really how Lammergeier saw him?

"Nobody's killing anybody," he said sharply. "The thing is…this may even partially be our fault. We always want you engines to be smart enough to be able to talk to us and be good working partners and maybe even friends, and it's bad enough that all of that already comes hand in hand with an awareness of your own mortality. But you, though…I just don't know… No engine should be thinking about the things you do. I don't know if you're like this because of something the people who built you did or if it's some sort of natural evolution, either way you shouldn't be agonizing over your own existence or anything to do with the morality of your purpose in life. You shouldn't be _capable_ of this."

He paused to think some more about what to say to the engine. Surendra, who was still sitting on the ground, regarded his colleague with relief. Frightening though the runaway he'd just experienced had been, he nonetheless felt that Lammergeier had acted more out of confusion and desperation than deliberate malice and was deserving of mercy.

"Lammergeier," Surendra called over to him, "what is it you want of us? If you had your way, what do you want to see change?"

The miserable loco glanced at the men. He'd almost cried himself out. An empty numbness was starting to replace the gnawing pressures he'd felt for so long within. He'd only heard a little of what Christophe had just said to him, but Surendra's queries came through loud and clear.

"I vant…I vant rights," he choked out between sniffles.

"But rights to do what, Lammergeier? If we gave you what you wanted, what would you do differently tomorrow?"

Christophe gently rubbed one of Surendra's shoulders as they waited for the engine to answer. They were good questions and he was glad to see that his fireman was getting over his shakiness.

"I vant…to choose. Vhen I vork. Vhat jobs." Lammergeier replied. His voice was growing stronger and more demanding again as he shook off the last of his lapse into self-pity. "Like you do. You choose."

"But Lammergeier, that's just it," Christophe said, a little puzzled. "We don't choose, at least not the way you're thinking. We have to accept what jobs are assigned to us the same as you do. The most I can do is pass on a request, like when you wanted to plow snow. It's Sir Topham Hatt who knows best what each loco is suited for and who determines how they'll be used. And you have to work to a schedule, the same as we do. You can't just work whenever you feel like it and otherwise do nothing."

"That's right," Surendra pitched in. "And besides, you owe us. You owe us a lot."

Lammergeier's eyes opened wider.

"Owe? _Was_ _ist… Verdanken?_ I pay you?"

His fireman had begun struggling back up onto his feet in the meantime and Christophe paused to help him. "You okay?" he murmured to the man and Surendra shook his head in the affirmative. Christophe, vastly relieved, gave his friend a quick bracing hug. Despite his earlier assertion, he'd come close to wanting to kill Lammergeier on the spot the instant he'd seen his colleague first slump to the ground.

"He's absolutely correct," Christophe said slowly to the engine now. "You do owe us, or are obligated to repay us, if you like. For starters, that body of yours… That didn't come free. A tremendous amount of effort and expense went into designing and building that body you live in and it costs a great deal more, not to mention all the man-hours it takes, to keep you fed and watered and maintained. If nothing else you owe us room and board."

"Don't forget the new roundhouse."

"Yes! _Double_ room and board," Christophe amended, "since we shelter your engine self too. And what about all the rails you run on and the stations and the steamworks and everything else to do with the railway? You couldn't even move if it weren't for the tracks we lay down, and believe me, none of it comes cheap. You owe us for using those tracks too, and all the other amenities you enjoy. And the only way you could ever hope to repay us for all of it is to work for us, just as Surendra and I have to work to keep ourselves fed and housed. Or do you think we live for free, we humans? Do you?"

Lammergeier was starting to look dismayed. It was clear that he'd never thought through anything to do with his own obligations.

"Is not right! I don't ask to be here!" he protested.

"Ask to be born, you mean? Lammergeier, nobody _asks_ to be born. They just are." Christophe paused again to step a little closer to the unhappy loco so he could better see his face. "Would you rather have been born human? Is that part of why you've been so angry with us?"

"No! No! Not human! I vant rights like a human! But be an engine," the loco was quick to snap back, and his engineer breathed an internal sigh of relief. He didn't know what he could have said had Lammergeier maintained he wished to be human himself, but the mere suggestion seemed to fill him with disgust.

"I understand that desire. Really I do," said Christophe. "The whole terrible War we recently suffered was fought in part because whole groups of people were stripped of their rights and the rest of us thought that was evil and wrong and needed to be stopped. But you, though…"

He stopped abruptly, looked to Surendra again, his expression laced with its own breed of anguish, for he was about to break one of the unwritten laws that all railway workers followed when dealing with living locomotives, the one which forbade burdening engines with adult issues and concerns for the same reasons that one did not speak of such things with children. But Lammergeier was different and Christophe was about to plunge into uncharted waters. He hoped mightily that neither of them were about to flail and drown.

"All right. It's clear to me now that you're as intelligent as any human, Lammergeier, and because of that, I'm going to speak to you from now on man to man, as it were. And the truth is, what you want simply can't happen. You're a locomotive. An incredibly smart, gifted one, yet a loco nonetheless, and the best we can offer you are the rights that every good engine deserves. Now, the fact that you're here on Sodor is already a good step towards getting those rights. You're lucky enough to belong to an owner who favours you steam engines and the coming generations of Hatts have every intention of maintaining that tradition and seeing you work on this railway well into the next century. Sir Topham Hatt's also an absolute stickler when it comes to fair treatment for engines. He won't tolerate anyone mistreating a loco and will fire anyone on the spot caught doing so, which is a lot more protection than a lot of engines elsewhere in the world enjoy, believe you me. He'll also always ensure that you're all well-maintained and never overworked, if at all possible, and I'll back that up as long as I have some say at the steamworks and as your driver. And if the worst ever happened, if you were ever in a terrible accident and couldn't be repaired and had to be scrapped, I'd push for an easy end for you. That's a right even our animals have, the right to a humane death when their lives are over, and I've long felt that engines deserve the same. So, there's that too, if need be. But that's all we can give you, Lammergeier. We can't treat you like some sort of engine-human hybrid because that would be grotesque and it's not who you are. It's not who you want to be, by the sounds of it.

"There's also another truth, and you're not going to like it. The fact is, our human society is a good deal more ordered and not as equal as you might believe. We all share basic human rights, true, but when it comes to what we can do and accomplish? There are often restrictions we can't overcome. This is something you simply have to accept. Talk to Surendra if you want to learn more about this. He comes from a country that uses a rigid caste system to organize its society. Even here, we all have our roles to play, and they're not necessarily the roles you may want or dream of having. And what you're dreaming of? It can't happen. You do have a place in our human society, a rather important place given the prominence of our railway on this little island of ours, but it's not a place for a human being to fill. It's for a locomotive to fill. You, Lammergeier."

He stopped again. The engine was staring at him, stone-faced. He'd heard and understood all right.

"I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you wanted to hear. But it's something you have to hear, and you have to somehow come to terms with it. And I'm sympathetic to how hard it's going to be—I am. I've had some experience myself with the process. Do you know where I'm supposed to be right now? Relaxing by a beautiful lake north of Quebec City at my retirement cottage, enjoying visits from what no doubt would have been passels of grandkids by now. But the War took my boys and my wife got ill and died, so that was the end of my particular dream. When things like that happen, you can only do one of two things, Lammergeier. You can either rage against the unfairness of it all and stay miserable and grief-stricken for the rest of your life, or you can take some time to reflect on what you lost and feel sorry for yourself, and then come to terms with what happened and look for something else that gives you pleasure to fill your time. In my case, what gave me pleasure besides my family was you steam locomotives. I tried to find something positive in my loss by considering it an opportunity for a fresh start rededicating myself to caring for you steamers and that's what brought me to Sodor, a chance to reconnect with a couple of old like-minded friends and to save the lives of several really worthy locos I knew, which would benefit my new boss at the same time. So you see, even if you had all the rights of a human, there's never any guarantee. You can't always have what you want. All you can do is make the best of what life hands you. Unless… Am I missing something really obvious here? Were you actually hoping you'd derail and plunge into the ocean and kill yourself? Do you _want_ to die?"

"No!" Lammergeier choked out at once.

"Was it us, then? Were you trying to get rid of us?"

"No!" the engine cried again. He sounded horrified. Christophe put his hands out in a gesture of helplessness, needing to understand.

"Then why? Why race off like a lunatic on a track with dangerous coastline curves? You know you can't safely navigate curves at high speeds. What were you thinking?"

"I don't! I don't zink!" Lammergeier almost howled. He was starting to get weepy again, his wet eyes spilling over. "I am sorry. I never mean _zu_ hurt you. I don't know vhy I run."

"You mean you just lost it…"

Both men regarded him solemnly. It wasn't a good answer. Christophe finally sighed.

"All right. This sort of thing stops now, Lammergeier. We cannot have you working on this railway if we can't trust you to control your own actions. You're simply too powerful and too dangerous to be unreliable in this way. It'd be like having a, a rogue elephant on the lines, and I'm sure that Surendra can tell you what happens to a working elephant that goes rogue in his country, no matter how beloved or valuable an animal he might be."

"Yes. We shoot him."

"Exactly. So I need you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to say to you, Lammergeier. You have just used up your one and only freebie. If you ever try running off again, if you attempt to hurt anybody, or if I catch you even thinking about hurting someone, then it's over for you. I'll be going to Sir Topham Hatt to tell him why you're no longer safe to allow around people and I'll ask him for permission to put you down myself so we can at least salvage your body to keep Adler well-supplied with spare parts for decades to come. I've no doubt your brother would never speak to me again and it'd be a hard thing to explain to all your fans, but that'd be what would happen if you 'don't think' ever again. Do you understand everything that I've just said to you?"

Lammergeier's expression was as downcast as either man had ever seen it, his gaze averted, a fresh round of tears streaming down his cheeks. "Yes, sir," he acknowledged in a weak voice.

"Good. Now, another thing you need to understand is that we're not about to simply abandon you. When I said I needed things to stop, what I meant is that I want you to stop keeping all your emotions and grievances so bottled up that they have no other outlet than to eventually explode in this crazy-making behaviour of yours. There's just no need of it anymore. You've confessed your secrets to us, we're still listening, and you can talk to us now about any and all of it. In fact, I realize now why it is that you haven't much befriended any of the other engines and why you haven't been confiding your woes to them...on some levels, they really can't understand you, can they?"

Lammergeier snuck a quick glance at the man. "No…"

"But we can," Surendra spoke up. "We can understand you." He looked at Christophe. "You know why."

"Indeed I do," the little engineer agreed. With his loco's necessary unpleasant chastisement over with, he was starting to feel better again, especially since Lammergeier appeared to have taken his warning to heart. He'd even tried to apologize and that had seemed genuine too. Surendra was obviously in favour of giving the loco another chance and Christophe was likewise inclined. He was already hoping that Lammergeier would feel obliged to speak more with them if he were extended some sympathy and mercy.

"All right, this is what we'll do," he decided. "As far as anyone else is concerned, what just happened here is that we thought your brakes might have been failing and we ran you into the buffer stop as a precaution. A false alarm, as it turned out, but no one needs to know that unless they ask. We'll keep our promise not to involve Sir Topham Hatt too, but I am going to have to tell Denise and Pierre what happened, given that they're your backup crew, and don't bother getting upset about your trust being betrayed because I'm pretty certain they've already figured it out on their own anyway. Denise has already confessed to me that's she's leery about getting up on your running board when you're in one of your moods—something you should be heartily ashamed of—so, well, none of what you've just done will come as a surprise, I'm sure."

He paused to let the full weight of his words sink in for a minute. Lammergeier had appeared to actually wince, his mouth twisting, when Christophe had just related the bit about Denise being leery of him. Jerk, the man thought with the faintest twinge of amusement, using his female friend's own favourite assessment of the loco. Adler had been right to call out his brother reference his feelings for the woman.

"I imagine you'll be absorbed in thinking things over for a while," Christophe continued, "and that's fine. We won't speak of this again until you're ready. But you have got to start talking to us. You cannot let your resentments build up again because it's clear now that you can't cope with the stress it causes you. You have to express yourself, if not to the other engines, then to us…we honestly do still want the best for you and want to help you, isn't that right, Surendra?"

"Yes it is. Christophe told me that you were quite friendly and chatty with people when you first came to the Island. I'd love to get to know that side of you, Lammergeier."

Again, the engine stole a quick glance at the men's faces. They _looked_ as though they meant what they said, but he just wasn't sure. He was still more focused on the simple relief of knowing that he wasn't about to be towed straight to the smelter's.

The lecture he'd been forced to endure dwindled after that and Lammergeier waited unhappily while the two men rechecked his front end and wheels, then climbed aboard to restart his fire. He still felt strangely empty inside, even when his boiler started to bubble and his steam came back up. The emptiness afforded him both comfort and remorse, and it was the remorse which was growing, although his remorse had nothing to do with what he himself had just done and everything to do with what the humans had done to him. He tried to hate them for having finally badgered the truth out of him when he was at his weakest and most vulnerable, but real hatred took a lot of energy and his emotional strength was almost spent. He sank into a listless apathy instead, letting his crew do whatever they wanted to him, feeling very sorry for himself.

When they tried backing him up, his rearmost six driving wheels, which were free of the sand trap, had no trouble gripping the rails and pulling him clear. Christophe patted the engine with relief.

"There's that traction," he remarked. "Good boy. You okay to go, Surendra?"

"I think so."

"All right then. Let's go home."

Just before they got to Tidmouth, though, Christophe pulled Lammergeier over into the big washdown just outside the town and got out to use the hose on the engine's undercarriage. The workman who was still on duty grabbed hold of the other hose available to help out, nodding in a knowing fashion.

"Picked up some sand, didya? Y' musta been up t' Harwick."

"Not quite that far north, but we did come in along the coast just now," Christophe said.

"Tell me about it!" agreed the workman. "I took me family up to Harwick just last week. And the wind! It was drifting sand everywhere like in the bleedin' Sahara. I don't know how they keep them tracks clear up there. They must have t' sweep 'em every coupla days."

"I imagine they do. Not much fun picnicking in the middle of a sandstorm, is it?"

"Cripes, no. Not unless y' like eatin' sand-wiches…haw!"

The men kept plying their hoses while they continued comparing notes on the excessive sand situation up at Harwick and Lammergeier was soon clean and free of any lingering grit. It was twilight by the time they set off for home again…dark by the time the 48 was finally and safely backed into his berth in the Knapford roundhouse. The only other shed resident who was still awake to notice their late arrival was Adler, who was surprised to see his brother's crew leave at once without doing any of their usual clean-up chores. When he peeked at Lammergeier's face, he knew why, though. Something had happened. Something profound and probably bad.

Adler debated with himself whether to say anything, and in the end, followed the example of the humans and likewise left Lammergeier alone. But not in peace. Of that, Adler was sure.

to be continued...


	12. Conflicted

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Twelve - Conflicted

Christophe and Surendra kept a very close eye on their engine for the next several days. Because he was a loco, Lammergeier could skate some on his rote behaviours and still work at an acceptable level even when he was miserable and distracted, and there was no denying that he'd suffered an emotional blow. Thankfully, the irritation and hostility he'd been exhibiting before seemed mostly gone. In its place was an air of faintly sullen, subdued introspection, and he continued to say very little as he went through his jobs and largely ignored any people that came anywhere near him. It wasn't ideal, but neither man had the sense anymore that he was about to run off or lose control of himself again, which was an improvement over his previous recent demeanour. And Christophe, he couldn't even look at Christophe anymore. Anytime his driver tried to catch his eye, Lammergeier would look fearfully away and at the ground in a gesture of submission. It bothered Christophe enough that he soon began second-guessing what he'd said to the engine.

"Was I too harsh?" he asked Surendra as they were walking home together one evening. "I know that loco never much liked me, but I never meant for him to be afraid of me. Maybe I shouldn't have threatened him so obviously."

"Better he be afraid enough to think twice about behaving badly again than the alternative," Surendra replied. "He'll get over it."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just…I'd never forgive myself if he went ahead and hurt someone now. We both saw what he was capable of and said nothing."

"I don't believe he'll be dangerous again. You made his options very clear to him. I think his intelligence will let him make the right choices."

"Cripes, I hope so. What a waste otherwise…the things he could tell us! We have to somehow convince him to let us befriend him."

"I agree. We could learn so much from him." Then, just to lighten the mood a little, Surendra added, "He still seems surprised that we didn't send him straight to the smelter's, don't you think?"

"Yes, I noticed. And who could blame him? Can you imagine him pulling the stunt he did back in Nazi Germany and being forgiven? Not bloody likely!"

"I'm hoping that's the sort of thing he'll give some thought to as he sorts himself out. A sharp talking-to and warning versus an immediate date with the scrapper's torch. We've got to come out looking pretty good by comparison."

"Hmm, I think you're right. Maybe he'll even get over being afraid of me."

"Maybe. But not too soon, I hope."

They parted a few minutes later still feeling pretty cheerful again about the whole Lammergeier situation. Just knowing finally what had been driving all the engine's anger and grievances with humankind was a relief. To have it all laid out on the train table, so to speak, and to discover the true scope of Lammergeier's intellect during the telling…it was still a little breathtaking.

The day after their talk, Surendra, Christophe and Lammergeier found themselves making another single flatbed delivery of sundry items to another of the little stations sited on one of the branch lines which serviced the interior of the Island. As stations went, this one was even quainter than most and surprisingly busy. A new major road paralleled the railway tracks for some distance for one thing, which offered plenty of opportunity for transferring goods from one mode of transportation to another. There were also several roads running between the station and a nearby village, for another, and one of them serviced what looked to be a broad groomed commons with a few big tents set up right next to the rails just up the track a ways. There were a bunch of kids playing on the commons at the moment, kicking about some balls, a little early yet for football given that the grass was still mostly brown, but both Christophe and Surendra could understand the appeal of wanting to be out on another lovely spring day. One of the station workers, a local, told the crew that it was an early Easter outing for a couple of classes from a nearby school. Lucky kids, Lammergeier's crew thought.

The station's surroundings were so pretty and the day so nice that Christophe and Surendra decided to take their noon meal while still at the platform, once their flatbed had been taken away and they'd confirmed with the stationmaster that such would be all right and that no further rail traffic was expected on their track for at least an hour. Besides, there was a food stall set up at the station which was emitting the most enticing odours now that lunchtime was nigh and it didn't help that the children on the commons soon all piled into what had to be their own food tent, judging by the smoke curling out of the tent's top ventilation flap and the occasional tantalizing whiffs everyone at the station got of sizzling sausages on the grill. Then, a few commercial lorries pulled into the station's parking lot expressly so their drivers could avail themselves of the food stall's offerings and that put the final stamp of approval on his decision as far as Christophe was concerned. Nobody knew where good food was to be had better than a truck driver…or in this case, a lorry driver.

Surendra and then Christophe both took their turns buying a nice hot packet of fish and chips at the food stall and then strolling about while they scarfed up their food. The station was sited right at the base of the westward facing side of the closest thing Sodor had to a mountain range, albeit a range that had long ago been weathered and ground down into moderate hills. The air was clear enough on this day that one could look out over the valley and see the terrain rise up again to form the heights that supported Ulfstead Castle some eight or so miles away. When it was Christophe's turn to eat lunch, he spent some time at first just standing and gazing over at Ulfstead off in the distance and thinking that Sodor really was the perfect size for an island nation. Big enough to offer a lifetime's worth of exploration, yet still small enough to be accessible and make one feel part of the community. Christophe liked the way Sodor made him feel. He'd thought he'd be a little homesick for Canada when he'd first arrived, but instead he'd felt like he was just trading one home for another.

Christophe sidled into position to discreetly observe Lammergeier for a while once he started in on his second piece of delicious battered fish. The engine was staring off into the distance, watching traffic on the main road next to the tracks, paying no attention whatsoever to the folks that occasionally walked past his front end. Still not ideal, but it was better than him glaring at people. He joined Lammergeier in watching a huge lorry towing a bed loaded with what looked like roof joists and other long timbers maneuver its way through a T intersection set down by the commons and start its laborious crawl up a new road laid onto the hillside. Christophe remembered reading about a luxurious new hotel, a resort really, being built close to and above the station, high enough up to offer a spectacular view. The lumber had to be intended for the build site, he thought, and was a little sorry that there were too many big trees up by the new road and in the way to be able to see anything yet of the hotel-to-be.

The little engineer ate his last few chips while briefly chatting with some of the visiting lorry drivers who were also enjoying their lunch break. They confirmed his suspicions about the lumber delivery and that it was going to be a wonderful resort indeed once finished, one catering to tourists who wanted to spend a week or two on Sodor and enjoy its historical sites and outdoor offerings. There was already talk of making up numerous sorts of tours, one being something called a rails and trails package. Christophe grinned broadly as soon as he heard that. He wondered if that would mean simply issuing short-term rail passes good for travel on any North Western loco or if something more exclusive mightn't be involved. Either way, it was always great to hear that the tourism business on the Island was expanding and he was quite proud to have had a very small hand in its success.

Surendra already had Lammergeier back up to full steam when Christophe finally climbed aboard again, which he was glad to see. They had some grades to climb and a fair distance to go to get to their next job and Christophe was in a mood to let the engine stretch out a bit. It might even lift the 48's spirits a little. He didn't like to see any locomotive looking sad for long, even though he knew his own words were the cause for this one's depression.

"Oh boy, you'll never guess what I just heard," he began to say to Surendra.

Lammergeier suddenly bolted again.

It was far worse than the first time. Neither man aboard had sensed anything at all concerning all morning and even the station workers were caught by complete surprise; they could hear the guard whistling vainly in their wake, unaware that the engine was the one calling the shots. Christophe's hands flew to the controls, but with a sense of futility and doom already in place. And there were witnesses. There'd be no covering up or explaining away Lammergeier's disobedience and dangerous behaviour this time.

The controls were locked, impossible to move. He was speeding up even faster than before. Christophe, horrified and in disbelief over the engine's insane action, pounded his fists on the cab wall in front of him.

"Lammergeier, please! Don't do this! You're killing yourself!"

" _GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT OF MY CAB!_ " Lammergeier screamed back.

Christophe froze. But that wasn't rage, it was fear he heard in that disembodied voice! Then Surendra snatched at his forearm.

"The lorry! The lorry!" he shouted, pointing towards the right-hand cab window with his other hand.

The same enormous truck from before, still pulling its load of lumber, was rocketing straight back down the long sloped road on the hillside. It was impossible to see whether a driver was inside, all they could tell was that the vehicle was careening out of control and gaining momentum by the second.

"Jump, Surendra!" Christophe cried, clutching his fireman in turn, pulling him toward the opposite cab door. The two men bailed, one after the other, leaping out over the banked side of the tracks. The short slope was heavily covered with gorse and heather which had been planted to provide erosion control and which now provided welcome cushioning that caught and slowed the men's tumbling falls. Both managed to pop up out of the bushes, shaken and bruised but otherwise unhurt, as soon as they'd come to rest, in time to watch their engine charge on by himself, his intent now clear. The squeal of screeching emergency braking split the air. For a few heart-stopping seconds, it appeared that Lammergeier might have miscalculated his speed and was going to overshoot, but then the flatbed truck came hurtling through the intersection and smashed straight into the locomotive's tender.

Another almighty screech of shearing metal assaulted the men's ears. The lorry and its load wrapped themselves about the end of the toppling tender, wood spilling everywhere, the whole sliding down the bank and becoming entangled in the fence enclosing the commons. Lammergeier went straight over onto his side, pulled down in turn. A tremendous cloud of steam burst forth, enveloping him and hissing furiously.

The last addition to the terrible symphony of destruction was the screaming of children, children who poured out of the lunch tent and who started screaming not with pain or fright, but simply out of sheer excitement at being able to get so up close and personal to such an awesome accident.

to be continued...


	13. Iron Heart

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Thirteen - Iron Heart

The day after the accident, Sir Topham Hatt drove out to the accident site again with Christophe and Surendra riding along as passengers in his blue sedan. Both crewmen were wearing civilian clothes and were on open-ended medical leave, and exited the auto quite stiffly, although both were at least moving without assistance. The first thing all three men did was walk over onto the commons and position themselves between the food tent and the remnants of the truck and Lammergeier's crushed tender. The road intersection lay right behind the mangled wreckage and beyond that, rising upward, stretched the road on the hillside. It all aligned perfectly.

"Good God," murmured Christophe.

He spoke for all three of them. It was all too easy to visualize what could have been: the runaway lorry flying through the intersection and smashing into the tent, the little bodies flung and torn like ragdolls, the spilling fuel igniting and the final horror of the incinerating fireball…dreadful. The police chief came out of the tent his people were using as their temporary mustering point and joined his visitors for a moment in somber contemplation.

After that, the chief shook hands all around and thanked the trio for returning so quickly. "I would've been fine with you two waiting a few more days to talk to me," he said to Christophe and Surendra. "You sure you're all right?"

"Just bruises and strains," Christophe assured him, "and at my age, it's better to keep moving a bit or I'll stiffen up completely. The bad day'll be tomorrow, anyway."

"Well, okay then," said the police chief, "but we've pretty much finished the investigation already. A no-fault pure accident as far as we can tell. The company'll be by later this afternoon to start salvaging what lumber they can and I think they've got a couple of your engines slated to come in with a crane to start clearing away the wreckage around the same time." He addressed this last to Sir Topham Hatt, who nodded his head in agreement. "After that, just some fence and the bank to repair and the tent can come down."

"How are the two drivers this morning?" the Fat Controller asked.

"Oh, that's the good news! The one with the broken wrist they released already and the other fellow who got dragged and run over looks like he might keep his leg after all. Poor beggars… The worst of it, I think, is that they had the chocks in hand and were getting ready to block the wheels when the brakes blew. They did their best after that to get back aboard and at least turn the lorry aside and off the road, but…happened too fast. A couple of the other workmen up there saw it all and can attest to that."

"Thank goodness. I'm sorry we had any injuries at all, but it could have been so much worse," said Sir Topham. "If it hadn't been for Lambchop…"

"Yes, how is that engine? He looked like he was in shock when they hauled him out of here yesterday."

"He was," said Christophe. "He took a terrible blow, even though his tender absorbed the worst of it. And then going over almost upside-down like that…"

The police chief eyed the two crewmen with sympathy. "And you still maintain he took off entirely on his own. The engine."

"He did," Surendra said. "He saw what was going to happen and he knew he couldn't delay, not even for a second. He never would have intercepted that truck in time had he waited and said something to us first. I never saw what was going on myself until he yelled at us to get out of his cab. Ditto Mister Pelletier. Lammergeier warned both of us, but only once he was already underway."

"Hmm… And is that usual for engines? To have that sort of initiative?"

"No. No it is not," Sir Topham himself replied. "Some of them do. Many do not. But then, I always knew that engine was different and special. He's one of the rare ones who's obviously able to assess a threat and react accordingly without having to rely on human guidance."

"Well, the engine's a hero then," said the police chief. "I've already interviewed pretty much everyone else who was at the station yesterday just prior to the accident and not a single person saw anything amiss until it was far too late. Your engine's the only one who saw anything at all and you say he chose to risk himself to intervene and prevent a worse tragedy all on his own. He's just very, very lucky that he wasn't destroyed, if you ask me. I hope you can fix him okay. He deserves everything you can do for him."

"I agree. And that's where we're going next, up to the steamworks to see him." said Sir Topham.

"Wish him well for me then. I confess I've been annoyed by the odd steamer for blasting off his whistle at inopportune times and even waking me up. But this one, Lambchop, he can whistle away next to my house all night long for the next year for what he did here yesterday."

The police chief's sentiments were already being echoed up and down the Island that morning, thanks to the local news media. Lambchop was indeed a hero. But a strange hero, who seemed singularly upset with what he'd done once he'd regained his senses and understood the extent of the damage he'd suffered. For one thing, his tender, his beautiful, original, authentic tender, was gone. It had sheared away during the act of pulling him over and had been smashed well beyond repair. His tender coupling was gone too, ripped completely away, and he would need some work done there. Yet aside from that one major issue, he'd come away from his sacrifice with remarkably little serious injury and he had the soft bank he'd fallen onto and slid down to thank for it. He sat in his repair bay up at the Sodor Steamworks looking sad and dejected as the chief engineer Mister Baker and a hoard of fitters looked him over and made their assessments, even though the prognosis was really rather good.

He perked up some for Sir Topham Hatt's visit, however, and even smiled for him as his owner expressed his relief that he hadn't been irreparably hurt and gravely thanked him for his selfless act of valour. Only Christophe and Surendra, who stood back a little to allow the two to have their moment, could see that Lammergeier was really neither pleased nor proud of himself. They thought that beneath his usual subterfuge the engine was in truth bewildered…bewildered and dismayed.

His crew was right. Lammergeier was putting on a good show, but the instant he found himself alone, a haunted look would creep across his face as he began endlessly replaying the accident in his mind as he'd once replayed the fight he'd had with his brother. Each time the loop replayed he would ask himself the same question: Why had he done it? Why had he risked his own life for the sake of a bunch of bloody humans he didn't even know? And each time the same answer was there waiting for him: He'd done it because it was in his _nature_ to act so. No matter what he thought of them, he'd never be free of his innate urges to want to serve his human masters and protect them. Because he was an engine, and that was what engines did—they served. The growing realization that all his intellect would never be enough to overcome what he was at heart, coming so soon on top of his attempted bolt and emotional breakdown, only escalated all his ill-hidden distress.

The people at the steamworks could tell he was unhappy, but thought it was because he was unable to work; they remembered how anxious he'd been to return to the rails when he'd first arrived on Sodor. Christophe suggested to Mister Baker that they solicit Lammergeier's old Controller, Mister Moderhack, for assistance in locating a suitable replacement tender for the engine as quickly as possible, and Mister Baker thought that was a splendid suggestion indeed and followed through. Mister Moderhack, once contacted, was not only eager to help, but immediately demonstrated why he'd been considered such an efficient Controller by rustling up not just one, but three tub tenders in excellent condition by the end of the following day, and the seller was open to a package deal. Sir Topham Hatt went for it and bought all three tenders. Not only would his Lambchop soon be back in action, but both 48s would then have a replacement tender always at hand just in case, which Sir Topham believed just made good business sense for a pair of valuable tourist engines.

In the meantime, while his new tender was en route, Lammergeier's abused innards were tenderly cleaned and inspected, his minor external repairs were seen to, and his new tender coupling was installed. He was ready to roll again, although he wouldn't roll far with no stores of water and coal on hand, and the other engines in his roundhouse all volunteered to fetch him back to the sheds where he'd at least have familiar company while he waited. But Lammergeier didn't want to go back to his roundhouse. He wanted to stay up at the steamworks. His refusal to return home so confused his shed-mates that Christophe finally stepped in to address the engines at large and he explained to them in simple terms that Lammergeier's accident had brought up some past issues and memories and that he'd need some alone-time for a while longer in order to deal with them. This, they could understand, and their confusion and faint feelings of guilt lessened. Only Adler remained in a stressed-out state, suffering along with his brother. He still wasn't exactly sure what it was that was plaguing Lammergeier, but had faith that the humans knew and would do their best to help him.

Lammergeier spent his days after that parked outside in front of the repair bay furthest from the offices of the steamworks where he could brood and think his troubled thoughts in peace. Victor would pull him inside just before he finished up at night and shunt him back out the next morning, otherwise he had very little contact with anyone, nor did he invite contact. He was content just to sit and watch…watch the odd engine come in for maintenance or small repairs, watch when Adler ferried their spare tenders up from Brendam Docks and the work to modify the one meant for him was begun. Christophe continued to oversee all of his repair work himself. He'd switched back to being an engineer only for the time being while he finished up doing his own healing and Surendra, who'd recovered much faster, went back on the spares list to keep busy until Lammergeier was fixed. Both men were still somewhat in awe of what their engine had done, but they alone, along with the Doyons, also understood how much it had truly cost him. They knew that Lammergeier was in mourning for the death of his former perception of himself.

One evening, shortly before sunset, the big 48 did get a visitor, whether he wanted one or not. Denise had come to see how he was making out and was all prepared to spend some time with him, with her blanket and thermos already in hand.

"Hey, Lammergeier, how's it going?"

Hearing someone speak German to him for the first time since Adler had come by to deliver the tenders was almost startling. He eyed the woman with a hint of his old malice.

"I'm fine," he said.

"Good. Feel like talking?"

"Not really. Thank you for coming by, but if you don't mind, I'd rather be alone."

Far from respecting his request, she rudely tossed her folded blanket up on his running board, then hitched herself up over his buffer beam. His buried temper flared instantly.

"Get off me!" he snarled, but Denise just snorted.

"Good luck with that," she laughed. "You've got no steam."

His brief rage subsided. She was absolutely right. There was nothing he could do. He clamped his mouth tightly shut instead and stared straight ahead and through her, trying to ignore her.

Denise snorted again. "Not going to talk to me, huh? Well, that's okay because I have a lot to say to you."

She arranged her blanket on his running board so she could sit and look at his face yet not be too close. He looked so angry that she wouldn't put it past him to try and bite her, and oddly enough, she was rather pleased by that. The Lammergeier of old, with all his obnoxiousness and high spirits intact, was obviously still alive in there somewhere, despite what Christophe had been saying about him being depressed. She poured out a first cup of mint tea and raised it to him in a mock toast.

"So. You're a big hero now. Pretty surprising," she said. "I bet you were hoping you'd never have it in you to want to save a human, but guess what—you do, and you always will. Even you have to acknowledge that now. That said, I do think what you did was wonderfully brave and you ought to be very proud of yourself. There are a lot of people on Sodor right now who are incredibly grateful to you and who'll want to thank you in person eventually, so you might want to start practising being gracious about accepting their thanks, even if you have to fake it.

"What else… Well, tons actually. Did Christophe tell you about your old Controller contacting some reporters back in Berlin and putting them in touch with the newspaper guys here? No? Well, he did. And your story made the front page of the B.Z., Berlin's biggest daily, how 'bout that? I guess it was hugely popular too, so much so that it got picked up by some other Euro countries, and the Berliners now want to know more about you and Adi too so don't be surprised if Mister Moderhack shows up later this summer dragging along a media crew. Of course Sir Topham's going nuts over all the free publicity. Erich's got copies of the newspaper that ran your story in Berlin so if you're ever in a mood to see and read it for yourself, just ask. The B.Z. people were also good enough to dig out some of their old archival issues and forward on some stories and mentions of you and your brothers back in the thirties when you were all brand new. There's a nice picture of Habicht in one of them. They wrote us that we should also try to watch Leni Riefenstahl's Olympia movie sometime if we could. Apparently all three of you are in a scene in the first part of the film, dropping visitors off at a station. Sir Topham's already tracked down a copy of the movie being held in some historical archive in London and is trying to get them to run off some stills. So again, there's all that for you look at whenever you come out of your current funk. Personally, I'd already be screaming to look at that picture of Habicht, but…whatever. I guess you being devastated by the loss of your precious authentic tender takes precedence."

Denise stopped talking for a while so she could pour herself another cup of tea and watch the sun sink ever lower behind a nearby treeline. The branches stood briefly out in stark contrast, then the light behind them began to fade. Soon, all that was left was a diminishing glow in the sky. A sliver of the moon began to sharpen against the deepening blue high above the horizon.

"There goes the sun…" Denise remarked. She took another big mouthful of tea, swished it around before swallowing it. "This is always our favourite part when Adi and I watch the sun go down together. You've wondered about that, haven't you, what your brother and I do when we go off together in the evenings? Well, this is about it. We pretty much do exactly what you and I are doing right now, except that Adi and I chat—that's both of us taking turns talking in case you've forgotten how normal people converse—and we like to look at the scenery. If we're parked up by the walking trail, we talk to the locals going by too and catch up on all the local gossip, who's had a new baby, who's romancing whom, all that human stuff I imagine you really don't give a rap about. Then, when it's almost time for the sun to go below the horizon, I sit right up next to Adler's face and drink my tea while I reach over and scritch his special spot. Oh, a special spot, you ask? What's that? Huh, not that you'd know. God forbid you ever derive any pleasure out of anything we humans do for you. A special spot's the place on every engine's face which they like to have scratched or stroked or rubbed the most. We humans even have a saying sort of about it: Scratch behind my ears and I'll follow you anywhere, heh. Of course you engines don't have ears, but it's the same idea."

Another sip. "Adi's favourite spot is his lips, oddly enough. He reminds me a little of a horse I used to ride as a kid, an old mare, and she loved having her lips and even her tongue rubbed and played with too. In exchange, she'd sort of lip your fingers and lick your arm as long as you'd let her…we always figured she liked the salt taste of our skin. Adi doesn't do that, but he did learn to sort of shift my fingers around between his lips like toothpicks and even hold most of my hand in his mouth. Everyone who sees him do it thinks it's just the cutest thing ever, an engine who's learned to hold hands with one of his favourite humans in the only way he can. One of our biggest railfans, Reverend Boston, even took a picture of us and got it published in one of the papers. Everybody saw it. Adi really is very affectionate, you know."

Lammergeier had squeezed his eyes shut some time ago. "Please stop," he whispered.

Denise regarded him with zero sympathy.

"Why? Because you can't stand the thought of your slave brother having a relationship with one of his human masters that's based on mutual respect and love? It's true, though. Adler's become very dear to me. I could probably love you too, even now, if you weren't such a hopeless jackass, and I know that Christophe and Surendra are crazy about you and would love to be your friends too. And yet… You don't really care about them, or me either, do you? As long as we show up to crew you through your jobs and keep you groomed and well-maintained, that's all you want from us, isn't it?"

She paused to shake her head, then kept sipping her tea as she contemplated what else she wanted to say to him.

"Christophe says you're the smartest engine he's ever known. He's writing a book—'On The Nature of Living Locomotives' is what he wants to call it, I think—and I know he'd like nothing better than to get some insight from someone like you, an engine with human-level intellect, that's what he told me. But I don't know about that, that you're really all that smart. For my money, your brother's the smart one. He recognized that he was in trouble when he first got here and he knew enough to ask for help, and he's ended up making a great life for himself as a result and endearing himself to a whole lot of people. You, on the other hand… What have you ever done with your intelligence except agonize over the things you can't do or can't have and make yourself miserable? I don't think that's very smart at all. In fact, I think it's bloody stupid, especially since you have it in you to be a really outstanding locomotive. I guess that's not enough for you, though. Too bad…"

Denise finished off the last of her drink and slowly unfolded her legs and got back up on her feet. Lammergeier still had his eyes closed and looked stricken. She was glad. It was about time he took someone's words to heart.

"Well, that's it," the woman concluded. "I guess there's nothing much else to say to you except that I hope you get fully fixed up soon with your new tender and back on the rails. I do still like driving you so I'll still be your spare driver whenever necessary. I'm also always available if you ever do decide you want to talk to someone or need something—that's just part of the job as far as I'm concerned. Lastly, even if you don't want to do anything extra for us damn humans, I do wish you'd be a little kinder to Adi. There's a side of him that's softer and far more sensitive than you know and he's very upset at the possibility of losing you all over again. So please make an effort, okay? He doesn't deserve your condemnation just because he feels differently about us than you do."

And with that said, she gathered up her blanket and thermos and got down off the unhappy loco and left…left him alone outside in the gathering gloom to continue brooding all on his own until Victor finally took pity on him and shunted him back inside for the night unasked.

It was the last time that Lammergeier spent the day outside by himself. The next day he was kept in so his newly modified replacement tender could be attached and once that proved successful, his last few cosmetic touches were seen to. Then he and his new tender were carefully repainted. As they had the first time, the day shift on duty cheered and applauded as soon as he was done. He looked the same as before, but Lammergeier was now forever a different engine. The good deed he'd done for the people of Sodor, whether intended or not, was his insurance for that.

to be continued...


	14. Lammergeier's Decision

HE'S MY BROTHER

Chapter Fourteen - Lammergeier's Decision

Lammergeier went back to work. As before, his crew kept a careful, surreptitious eye on him, still not sure of what to make of his new, rather depressed-seeming affect, but soon learned that it went hand in hand with some pleasing changes. A great many people wanted to talk to him whenever he sat waiting at the platforms for any length of time and for the first time, he paid some real attention to all his new fans, looking at them and accepting their congratulations and queries without any nasty sense of doing so just to string them along. He even spoke with them, although his repertoire was as yet limited to such simple responses as " _ja_ ", "I am fine", and "zank you very much", and he sometimes looked after the folks as they left not with his usual boredom or irritation but a strange sort of puzzlement, as though he still couldn't understand why he was so deserving of attention from total strangers. To Surendra and Christophe he still seemed withdrawn, even listless, and they soon learned via a little judicious eavesdropping that anyone who did notice was attributing it to a mix of the engine's being humble and his still convalescing after his accident. Lammergeier's being humble was a crock, of course, yet there was some truth in the convalescence part of it. Physically fixed though he was, the engine still had some mental healing to do.

One evening, early on, Christophe came back to the Knapford roundhouse after supper to check on some routine maintenance matters concerning Guy and Francois and afterwards strolled on over to the other side of the sheds to look at Lammergeier. None of his immediate neighbours had returned from work yet; so far it was just the 48 and the two Canadians settling in for the night. Christophe poked about inspecting his engine's undercarriage. He could feel Lammergeier's gaze on him the entire time and, on a hunch, he decided to inspect and lubricate the holdings for some of the engine's display posts, a genuine, useful task given that the tourist season was fast approaching. Lammergeier's eyes widened a little when the man first climbed up with his bucketful of utensils, although he didn't look away.

"Don't worry, I'm just here to check out your display features," Christophe told him matter-of-factly, then turned his attention to his work. The holes in the engine's running board which accommodated his flag holders and the two main display posts were typically kept filled with studs when not in use, to protect the threads and keep out the dirt. He unscrewed the studs now with what amounted to a giant fist-sized screwdriver, then wiped and lubricated the studs and the holes they came out of one by one before replacing them. One of the studs was a little rusty so it was just as well that he'd made up the busy-work in order to hang around a while longer. Lammergeier watched him steadily throughout. Christophe, studying him carefully out of the corner of one eye, thought that he looked…lonely.

"You're looking rather pensive this evening," he remarked once done with his small job. "Anything on your mind that you might like to share?"

And to Christophe's incredible relief and pleasure, the engine did have something to share. He frowned and said, in a bitter, resigned tone, "I vill never be anything but a _Lok_. Vill I?"

Christophe put down his bucket at once, turned, and faced his locomotive directly. The engine kept his eyes on him, no longer afraid.

"Well, no, Lammergeier. Of course not. But I hardly see that that's anything to be unhappy about."

"Vhy?" he demanded, still sounding bitter.

"Well, for starters, there are plenty of humans in the world. Lots and lots of animal species of all shapes and sizes, some of them friends to man, most of them not. But there aren't that many living steam locomotives. That, in my opinion, is something the world could use more of, especially exceptional locos like you, who've proven themselves to be brave and loyal. I don't think you quite realize what you've done here, Lammergeier. No one's going to forget what you did, and because of it, you'll likely outlive every person currently residing on Sodor."

"Outlive zem!" Now he sounded shocked.

"Sure. That's one of your great advantages. You engines don't really have a set lifespan like we humans do. You could potentially still be running the rails a century from now, just like Stephen, only Stephen'll be over two centuries old by then. The trick is to endear yourself to the public in addition to being useful, to become an icon of sorts. The Rocket's achieved that. So has The Flying Scotsman. You could do it too and all because you obeyed your heart for once and saved all those children. Of course, it's up to you whether the thought of all those long, long years of life is a source of great joy for you or a miserable burden. That part, none of us can help you with…"

He trailed off. Lammergeier had lowered his gaze and had a peculiar look on his face, one at once strange yet hauntingly familiar. Then the man had it. It was the same hard-thinking expression Adi got when he was trying to understand a difficult concept put to him by one of his human friends. Christophe just wasn't used to seeing it on Lammergeier.

"I'll leave you in peace then," he said to the engine in conclusion before climbing down off his running board. Lammergeier said nothing back. He was fully absorbed by his own thoughts. When Christophe took a last peek at him after he'd put the short ladder he'd used away, the engine was still ruminating.

Lammergeier's quiet thoughtfulness persisted over the next few days. Occasionally, Christophe saw him putting his tongue out to lick his lips, a sign of stress in locomotives, but a good type of stress, of the sort they typically underwent when grappling with a novel new idea or other challenge to their intellect. Something radical was evidently going on within Lammergeier's mind. It absorbed him enough that he almost looked a little spaced at times as he went about his work, although he'd come promptly out of it if spoken to and continued to behave decently with everyone he interacted with.

Then came the best day yet, one that was brilliantly sunny, with a light breeze laced with a glorious mildness and broad hints of the summer to come. The world had turned green while Lammergeier had been up at the Sodor Steamworks and was now full of bloom and new life. Christophe and Surendra smiled almost nonstop as they went about their work that day and hoped for something else that was new to soon spring into being.

Lammergeier and his crew completed their last job, a goods delivery to the village of Ulfstead proper, late in the afternoon. But instead of turning around to go home afterwards, the men went for a more scenic return and took their engine up to Arlesdale. The big 48 was curious about their decision, although not enough to say anything about it. But when they slowed him right down to a crawl when chuffing down the portion of their line which paralleled the tracks used by the miniature engines of the Arlesdale Railway and Surendra hung halfway out of his cab window and began calling back such remarks as "sorry, don't see him" and "still nothing…wonder if the others took him up to the hills?", his natural nosiness finally got the better of him.

"Who are you look for?" he suddenly interjected, just as rudely as ever. Within his cab, his driver and fireman exchanged grins. Gotcha, thought Christophe.

"Have you heard any of the gossip about the new miniature engine on Sodor? The one that arrived unexpectedly near the end of January?" Christophe asked him cheerfully in response.

Lammergeier had to think about that one.

"Maybe…little bit. He come…on a ship?"

"That's the one. He showed up out of the blue complete with his whole train, packed up in three big crates addressed to Denise, already paid for and everything. What a scramble that was that day, trying to find out what was going on! It turned out that this was one of Denise's Dutch railfan cousins doing her a big favour, except it came three years late. The folks at the Arlesdale Railway _had_ been looking to buy another mini long ago, but wound up building their own new engine in the meantime, so…figures. Anyway, he's fully restored now and I thought you might like to meet him. His name is Wikus. He's a fellow European, from the Netherlands, and he's something of a War refugee too."

"Vhat do you mean, a refugee?"

"Well, Wikus used to belong to this rich rail enthusiast with a big mansion and enough of an estate to lay down a lot of track for his own little engine to run on. And he's a proper mini, too, certified to work any fifteen-inch track, not a toy. Some company in Delft that normally made narrow gauge locos built him as something of a favour apparently. Anyway, his owner made some agreement with another rich buddy to develop a piece of neighbouring land into an amusement park and he extended his own rail line over to the park so Wikus could give rides to people, including touring the estate gardens. I guess the park was popular enough to become quite famous and Wikus was one of its star attractions. Everybody in the surrounding town used to know him and loved him. Then the War broke out and the Nazis came. I'm sure you know they occupied the Netherlands and a number of other countries, and they kicked the rich railfan out of his mansion and used it as a headquarters and for officers' residences and turned the amusement park and gardens into a recreational facility for their own soldiers. So instead of carrying around happy local families, Wikus had to cart around German officers' families and military people on leave and collaborators. Which he tried to do cheerfully enough, I suppose, since he had no choice in the matter, but still… I'm sure it broke a lot of Dutch people's hearts to see that sweet little engine forced to serve the Nazi occupiers, just as I'm sure it broke a lot of sincere Germans' hearts to see engines like you reduced to war reparations."

"Oh," Lammergeier exclaimed softly. This was another thing which he'd never considered, that there might be people he didn't even know who would be upset by what had happened to him at the end of the War. He'd been convinced that humans, all humans, didn't really give a damn about the lives of engines. "Vhat happened _zu_ Wikus vhen ze Allies came?" he asked, suddenly eager to hear the rest of the story.

"Ah, that's when it got exciting," Christophe replied. "The man who used to own Wikus was still around—the Nazis had at least left him his life, although they robbed him of everything else—and he kept a very close eye on the progress of the War as the years went by, never losing hope that he might someday be able to reclaim his little engine. Then D-Day came and the Nazis were suddenly in real trouble. The Allied forces worked their way close enough during that first fall that people who lived near the amusement park could hear the explosions of the nearby fighting and even see the horizon light up at night. Then there came a terrible dark moonless night when the fighting sounded closer than ever and the townspeople could hear bomber planes droning overhead and all the local Nazis left were in a panic, rushing about and organizing themselves and briefly quitting the town for the most part to go and do battle. Wikus's master knew that the Allies would soon drive the Nazis back their way and he was very much afraid that they'd implement their usual scorched earth policy as they retreated. He and a bunch of friends with a couple of trucks seized their chance and rushed out to the amusement park in the dark and somehow managed to steal that little engine and his entire train of rolling stock out of there while everyone in authority was occupied with the fighting. One of the friends had some old outbuildings on a worthless piece of land out in the country and they managed to stash Wikus there just in time and rushed back to town to take cover and try and survive themselves. The following day, the Nazis swept back through and sure enough, they torched the park, the mansion…everything. And if they even noticed that the park's engine was missing, well, they didn't care anymore in their panicked rage and quit the town as soon as they'd destroyed what they could of their former holdings. The flames devouring the mansion were apparently still burning when the Allies marched in later that night, providing light. And Wikus's owner and all the other locals who'd survived were there to greet them."

" _Und_ zhen zhey got Wikus?"

"Well, no, it was still too dangerous. They had to wait for the last of the fighting to sweep through, for one thing. The formerly rich guy and the friend who owned the buildings where Wikus was hidden did drive out a few days later to make sure he hadn't been discovered and that the property hadn't been disturbed, and it hadn't been, but that was all they dared do. The town was a mess after all. So much destruction. A lot of people dead or missing or hurt and half-starved…there were a lot of higher priorities just then other than the welfare of a miniature steam engine. Besides, what could they have done with him? Beloved or not, a lot of locals would have pushed to have him smelted down to provide raw materials for all the rebuilding that needed to be done. Wikus was much safer where he was. And it made his newly restored owner's heart glad to know he was safe. It made everyone who'd taken part in his rescue happy, just the knowledge that they'd salvaged something of the old days before the Nazis came. It was their joyful secret."

But Lammergeier didn't see it that way. He was a little appalled.

"So zhey left him zere? For years? All alone? Vhy?"

"Why not?" Christophe countered. "That's another of you engines' great advantages. You can hibernate at will and sleep the time away when things are rough. We humans can't. We're the ones who have to stay awake and suffer. Wikus didn't suffer at all."

Lammergeier chuffed along in silence for a moment. "But how do you know?" he finally said. "How could he not suffer, _zu_ have _zu_ vait alone for years _und_ years?"

"Because he wasn't alone, Lammergeier. Not really. I'm sure the last thing his master told him was to close his eyes and go to sleep, and when he came back for him and woke him up that the world would be a much better place again, for men and little steam engines alike. I have no doubt that Wikus trusted his owner and went to sleep having complete faith that he'd be back for him eventually. There's no suffering when trust and faith prevail."

Again, the disembodied voice went silent. After a while, Christophe added, "Anyway, that's Wikus's background. Unfortunately, the amusement park and tracks he used to run on were never rebuilt and his owner sadly decided that he'd need to find a new home for Wikus before he dared wake him again. That's where Denise's cousin stepped into the story. He still thought that she was looking for a miniature engine for some of her colleagues and then he met a guy in a bar who knew a friend who knew a friend and so forth. When Wikus's owner found out that someone was looking for a mini engine for the Arlesdale Railway on Sodor, I guess he just about fell over. He knew all about Sodor, you see, and thought it would be the perfect new home for Wikus. So, we got him. What's kind of hilarious is that when he first came, he spoke fluent Dutch, German and French, and could handle conversational Spanish and Italian no problem. But he didn't speak a word of English. We thought you'd just like to have another engine friend to speak German with. And have someone new to compare notes with, of course, since you both came through a World War and managed to survive in your own ways. Ah well, we'll try again another day. Or we can call up and make an actual date to meet."

Lammergeier said nothing in response. He was too busy still thinking about Wikus sleeping away the long years in his hiding place, perfectly content to wait until his master came back for him. Then he started thinking about how Christophe had been coming up to the steamworks all during his own interval of waiting to be repaired and repainted. The man had limped a lot and had seemed very tired sometimes throughout the first few weeks, but he'd come every day even so, just to make sure that Lammergeier was being cared for properly.

The engine was so absorbed by his musing that he paid no attention to where his crew was driving him. When he finally came out of it, he saw that they were on the southbound track running through Arlesburgh West.

The Arlesburgh coastal line again…the Little Western…the place where he'd made his aborted sprint for freedom and been made to spill his secrets at last… It all seemed so pointless now…

Lammergeier's disembodied voice filled his cab again. "Christophe?"

"Yes, Lammergeier?"

"Could ve…stop at Bluff's Cove avhile? In ze siding?"

His driver became instantly worried.

"Oh? Are you feeling poorly? Is something wrong?" he asked, his concern evident.

"No. No. I vas zinking…ve could vatch ze sun set together. Like Adler _und_ Denise."

Although he couldn't see them, he sensed both men relaxing, their weight within him seeming to grow lighter.

"What do you think, Surendra?" Christophe said, his tone now much happier. "Feel like stopping to watch the sun set with Lammergeier?"

"I think that is a splendid idea," his fireman replied, and the consensus was made.

They pulled in at Bluff's Cove and came to a gentle stop. The siding put them in an ideal location from which to observe the lowering sun. Although the sky was clear, there was a lot of mist out over the sea on this glorious evening, obscuring the coastline of the Isle of Man nearby. The sun, when it set, would appear to sink into a layer of fog. Surendra hopped out and went forward in front of Lammergeier, while Christophe used the same trick Denise did, a loop of cloth rope over the engine's forward coupling hook, to hoist himself up between his buffers. Standing on one of the steps leading up to the uppermost portion of Lammergeier's running board put the little engineer in the perfect position to lean against the side of the loco's face and stretch an arm out—carefully, since his smokebox was still hot—over the top of his faceplate. Then he just relaxed, feeling vindicated at last, thinking that this moment had been a very long time coming but that it was already worth all the heartache the temperamental, infuriating, and magnificent 48 had put him through.

Surendra was still standing a little ways in front of the locomotive, facing the sun. While they watched, his put his arms straight out on either side, held them there for a few seconds, and slowly reeled them back in. His hands came together, palm to palm, in front of his face.

The engine was intrigued. He was good at sizing humans up, but this was a behaviour new to him.

"Vhat is he doing?" asked Lammergeier.

"Surendra? Praying, maybe. Or perhaps he's just giving thanks."

"Giving zanks for vhat?"

"For being alive. And for being able to appreciate it."

The loco and his driver both fell silent. Christophe just kept watching his fireman while absently running his hand over the top of Lammergeier's forehead. The setting sun was making a silhouette out of his colleague's figure. Surendra extended his arms out again, his palms uppermost, then drew his hands back together in front of himself. Yes, definitely praying, Christophe thought. And then he felt something remarkable…

The alloy surface beneath his stroking hand was starting to quiver. He could soon feel it through his whole body wherever he was leaning against Lammergeier's face, just waves and waves of almost imperceptible trembling. Then he heard the engine utter a barely audible, inarticulate sound. His breathing turned ragged, coming in convulsive gasps, almost as if he were trying desperately not to sob.

Christophe waited, saying nothing. All he did was keep stroking and stroking the engine's face. And for the first time, he could feel the hard amorphous metal beginning to yield to the pressure of his fingers, growing pliant and warmer, softening, becoming more sensitive…surrendering. He reached further down and smoothed his palm over the engine's eyebrows. Lammergeier allowed it and closed his eyes, all his resistance gone.

"That's good. Good boy," Christophe began to murmur. "It's all over, my son. No more worries." The engine's breathing was easing and becoming quiet again, his emotional storm fading. He was listening to him. "There you go," the man continued to croon in a soft, reassuring voice. "You don't need to struggle any longer. We'll look after you now."

He traced the upper contours of his loco's finely chiseled nose and gently scratched the base of it just beneath the space between his eyebrows. Lammergeier expelled a sudden deep sigh with a little groan to it, his eyes still closed.

Christophe had found his special spot.

And Lammergeier, he'd found his place.

THE END


End file.
